


A Tale of Two Michaels

by Fran_fic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, House Boy, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Prostitution, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22570384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fran_fic/pseuds/Fran_fic
Summary: Twenty-two year old Mikey isn’t faring very well, trying to survive as a prostitute with a cruel and demanding pimp, but then he runs into an unlikely customer one bitingly cold night in the street, who just might completely change his life. The question is, is he only out of the frying pan and into the fire?
Comments: 22
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly little erotic fantasy of mine, so, please consider that it’s not meant to accurately or realistically portray any of the subjects it brings up, such as prostitution, pimps, biker culture, BDSM and any related lifestyles, or pretty much anything, really. I would certainly not condone some of the behavior depicted in this story in real life, the two main characters often don’t do things right, and don’t hold to the safe, sane and consensual guideline through most of the story. Mind the tags, and take it for what it is – a fantasy.

Mikey put his cold hands over his thighs, which did nothing to thaw them out of their icicle-like state. Man, he could hardly feel the front of his legs anymore. He was way too thinly dressed in this weather, but, of course, he was supposed to be ‘sexy’. The tight black jeans, full of holes, which clung to his skinny legs like a second skin, and the tiny black tight sleeveless top he had on, were supposed to make him alluring and make his pimp money.

All _he_ could think of was that if it got any colder tonight, this outfit would probably kill him.

He put the hands to his mouth instead and tried to breathe some warmth into them, before putting them back on his thighs where the ‘sexy’ holes left the skin unprotected. His pimp let him wear an old worn jean jacket when it was chilly outside, but it didn’t help when it was _this_ fucking cold, neither did his hair, even if it did cover up his shoulders and hung down his whole back. 

His pimp was a fucking asshole.

Not that he would ever dare say that aloud in the presence of the man. Once upon a time, Mikey had been stupid enough to think a pimp wouldn’t beat him only because he wouldn’t want any visible marks on his whores, but then the man had proven to him that some johns wouldn’t at all mind paying to fuck a boy with a black eye. 

Yeah, he kept his mouth shut around his pimp these days, except for blowjobs. Life hurt less that way, at least physically. 

A car drove slowly down the street and stopped before him, the window at the driver side rolling down. He walked up to it and leaned down, trying to smile around his chattering teeth. “Hey, Mister! You looking for some fun?” he asked. Ew, he thought, nasty old dude. He never could get used to those, but at least the man had a good heat going on inside that car. He could feel it on his face, and it felt damn good. Besides, business had been non-existent so far tonight, and if he didn’t meet his quota, his asshole pimp would beat his skinny ass. He could _not_ afford to be fussy here. 

Old nasty dude grinned at him, at first, but then his expression turned sour. “Is there something wrong with you, boy?” he said, a contemptuous look on his wrinkly ass face. 

“Uh,” Mikey said. He didn’t know what to answer, not sure what the john meant. 

“Are you ill?” nasty dude clarified, but there was no concern in his voice.

“I… no, I…”

“You look like you’re coming down with something,” the john interrupted, “I don’t want you in my car if you’re coming down with a flu. You’re way too thin, too. You’re not HIV-positive are you?” The man in the car gave him a disgusted frown. Obviously, he was infinitely more concerned about his own wellbeing here than the plight of streetwalkers, and didn’t want to catch something from the ‘unclean whore’. 

Mikey pressed back his anger, forced his lips to keep smiling, and prepared to assure the john that he was clean, to explain how his pimp saw to it he was regularly tested, and then beg the old bastard to fuck him. However, his big mouth had other plans, it seemed. “I am, actually,” he suddenly heard himself saying. “HIV-positive I mean. Got some nasty stuff growing on my dick, too, don’t know what the hell it is, but if you don’t want me to fuck _your_ fat ass, and you, you know, use a fucking condom in _my_ aids-ridden asshole, you should be just fine.”

The old man in the car gave him a murderous look, his face flushing red. “They should fucking round up the lot of you and shoot you as the infested rats that you are,” he yelled as he rolled up the window, and drove away. 

Mikey stepped back onto the sidewalk, watching the car drive off. Fucking bastard, he wasn’t ‘infested’ with anything. He was just fucking exhausted, half-starved and probably about to go into hypothermia. As if that old asshole would have looked any better in his situation. 

It didn’t take long for his anger to die down, though. Fuck, what _was_ wrong with him? He could have warmed up so good in that car. If he’d swallowed his ire and flattered the old man instead, pretending to be nice and accommodating, he might even have been able to negotiate a price to at least somewhat meet his quota so he could go the fuck home and get some food and sleep. But, noooo, he had to open his stupid ass mouth and make the john angry. 

“So…”

Mikey jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around. There was suddenly this huge guy on the sidewalk right behind him. Where the hell had he come from? 

“ _Do_ you have HIV, little _rat_ , or were you only fucking with the germophobe?” Big Guy asked. 

“Uh...” Mikey said. “I- I was just fucking with him. I don’t have… I’m clean, I don’t have anything, I swear.”

He swallowed hard. Mikey knew the type. Biker dude. Huge, tall, built like a brick shit house, tattoos visible on the neck, peeking up from under the edge of a black bandanna at his throat, a long braided beard, shaved head, steel-capped boots… That dude could break him in two with one hand, and in Mikey’s experience, that was what biker dudes usually _wanted_ to do with skinny little whore boys like him. With men like that, male prostitutes usually weren’t very high on the list of things they respected. If a group of vigilantes _was_ ever formed in this city, with the main goal of cleansing the streets off people like him, then this guy would probably demand to be the leader and chief ‘rat-exterminator’.

“What do you take for a fuck then?” biker dude asked.

Mikey’s jaw dropped. Did he really want to fuck him? “Uh… I… Uh… If you don’t kill me, I’ll make it a freebie?” He smiled nervously, but then at once wiped his stupid grin off his face and winced. Again, with his fucking idiotic mouth. Did this look like a guy who had any sense of humor what so fucking ever? He started to slowly back away, preparing to turn and run for his life, but in spite of his size, biker dude was scarily fast. 

He reached out and grabbed Mikey by the collar of his jean jacket before he had a chance to turn, pulling him close. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere. I believe you just offered me a freebie. You’re not trying to stiff me, are you?”

If he peed himself, at least it would warm up his frozen thighs for the last five seconds of his life. “N-n-no, Sir,” he managed. 

One corner of huge biker dude’s mouth quirked slightly upwards. “’Sir’, is it? You’re a good boy then? A good little whore who does what he’s told?”

Mikey’s head was spinning. Did biker dude really want to play that game with another dude, or was he only trying to figure out just how many disgusting things male whores would agree to before beating him to a pulp? “I- I… I am…? I mean, I can be… If- if that’s what you want…?” he tried, hoping that’s what the man wanted to hear. If not… Well, he supposed there must be at least a few cases in human history of less impressive last words. 

The huge hand twisted in his jean jacket collar, making it painfully tight around his throat, and he was pulled even closer. “Coincidentally,” biker dude growled in his face. “That’s _exactly_ what I want.”

Was peeing himself still an option? “O-okay, Sir, whatever you say…” He cut himself short with a yelp when biker dude simply turned on his heels at this, walking away, pulling him along. He didn’t dare ask where they were going. Not into a dark alley where no one could witness him die, he hoped. 

He wasn’t dragged into an alley, but through an unmarked backdoor a few blocks down, further through a dark corridor, and, lastly, another door. Biker dude shoved him inside and turned to switch the lights on. Mikey looked about. A small illegal club, by the looks of it, the kind biker dudes liked to frequent, with black-painted walls covered in heavy metal posters and centerfold girls with huge silicone breasts, and a row of hanging lights over the bar counter made of old motorcycle helmets. For a moment, terror gripped him, as he feared he would be the entertainment of a whole biker gang, an experience he most definitely wouldn’t survive. 

However, he soon enough realized that this particular biker dude wasn’t here as a guest – maybe he was even the owner, seeing as he had the keys – and that the illegal club must be closed tonight. They were alone, the place was empty of people, dead silent, and it was too late at night for it to open up now.

Biker dude took his leather jacket off, tossed it over the back of a chair and turned to him. 

Mikey’s eyes widened. The dude was wearing only a black T-shirt underneath and his biceps were wider around than Mikey’s thighs – thighs that were shaking like a pair of maracas by now – and both his arms were completely covered in fucking skull tattoos. He tore his eyes away from the dude’s arms with some difficulty and his eyes dropped to the huge bulge in the man’s tight leather pants. Oh, this was going to hurt…

“If you’re finished staring at my crotch, then get those girly rags off, I don’t have all night!”

“Here?” Mikey asked. “Right here in the bar?”

“You’re a fucking street whore,” biker dude said. “You don’t get to act the prude here. Get your fucking clothes off!”

Right. “Yes, _Master_ ,” Mikey said, not quite able to keep the resentment out of his voice as he started to take his jean jacket off. 

He only got it half way down his arms before biker dude reached out again, twisting his huge hand in his hair this time, forcing his head back. “No attitude, boy, and skip the master-talk for now! I’m not role-playing here; you won’t get a fucking safe word. You’ll do as you’re told, _when_ you’re told. Get it?”

Mikey couldn’t get a word out, couldn’t even nod in the tight grip. Frozen with fear, he hoped blinking slowly a few times would be recognized as the international code for ‘Yes, Sir’. 

It seemed to work. Biker dude released him, stepping back to watch him strip, his grim expression changing into a smug grin as the black top fell to the floor at his feet next to the jean jacket and he started to peel the tight pants off.

“Not exactly a regular at the gyms around here, are you?” he chuckled. 

“You expect high quality from a freebie?” Mikey muttered.

Unexpectedly, biker dude only smiled at that. “Oh, you’re cute enough, maybe just, you know, _eat_ something sometime!”

What the fuck. He fucking _would_ , if his fucking asshole of a pimp ever let him keep enough money to actually sustain himself. He opened his mouth to inform ripped-asshole-biker-dude, who was probably stuffing away 4000 calories a day, of this, but was cut off. 

“Okay, enough talking from you. Come here and put those sweet lips to some actual good use.”

Yeah, right, how could he forget, no one would be interested in anything he had to say. He was two convenient holes, and that was all. Mikey walked up to biker dude, and was promptly pushed down on his knees with his face in the man’s crotch. 

“Open my pants!” the man ordered.

Mikey, gulped and swallowed hard, lifting shaking hands to obey, starting to work on the laced-up leather pants. The already half-hard cock that bounced out in his face was a fucking monster. Oh, this was _so_ going to hurt.

He looked up at the man with the most pleading eyes he could muster. “Please, Sir, I- I’m not trying to flatter you, or anything, but… Please take it slow with this thing! I’ll give you a really good time if only you…”

His pleas were crudely interrupted by biker dude simply grabbing a handful of hair at the back of his neck and shoving that monster of a cock into his mouth. “I said, no talking, whore,” he growled, but he didn’t start to fuck his throat brutally as Mikey had expected. 

Biker dude just held him in place, with the tip of his cock in his mouth, not moving. The hard grip of his hair loosened and changed into a petting motion. “That’s it, boy. Learn to listen and I’ll go easy on you. Now, show me what a good and willing little cocksucker you are and I might save the deep-throating for another night.”

Another night? Oh, hell no, he would never… Mikey pushed that thought aside and forced himself to get back to the matter at hand, trying to take in what the huge dude was saying. There might actually be an end to this that didn’t involve a world of pain and being choked half to death? He just had to be a good little cocksucker? Sure, he could do that. 

Mikey got right to it, sucking and licking to the best of his ability, taking as much of the man’s length as he could without choking, letting his tongue swirl around the man’s glans, teasing his frenulum, his trembling hands tentatively starting to massage the man’s balls, hoping that wasn’t too forward at this stage. 

He looked up with hopeful eyes. Huge biker dude stared back down at him. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said. “That’s _so_ good, boy.”

Mikey beamed, renewing his efforts, wanting to hear more of the same. He _was_ good at this, wasn’t he? Somewhere inside of him there was still this normal boy – around twelve, or so – who hadn’t yet ended up in the streets, telling him he shouldn’t be so freaking happy at this asshole praising his whorish skills, or being so damn proud he was good at sucking cock, but that inner voice wasn’t as loud as it had once been. It got easier every year to ignore it. 

Besides, if he got huge biker dude off with his mouth, he might be spared an ass-splitting fuck. Sure, biker dude was young and fit – fucking scarily fit – but it still had to take half the blood of this body to fill that monster cock one more time, right? He got him off good now, biker dude might just decide he’d had his fill, and let him leave here in one piece.

Suddenly the harsh grip was back in his hair, and he was jerked to his feet, monster cock torn out of his mouth with a stupid ‘pop’. Again, biker dude looked less than pleased, staring him in the eyes with a grim expression. Mikey shook. What had he done? He was sure he hadn’t accidentally let his teeth…

“I know what you’re trying to do, whore,” he growled. 

“S- s- survive?” Mikey squealed.

“Shut your mouth, whore! You’re trying to get out of my freebie fuck by getting me off with your mouth.”

Mikey started to shake his head in denial, but froze in the man’s grip instead. Something told him lying wouldn’t go over well here. “Please don’t hurt me, Sir,” he whined, near tears now. “It’s just- just… You’re _really_ fucking big and you tear my asshole… How am I gonna work, and…”

Huge biker dude actually made a silly face at him. “I’m not gonna rip your whore-ass, I’m not gonna hurt you. Just be sweet to me boy, and I'm gonna give you the fuck of your dreams.”

The disbelief must have shown in his eyes. Biker dude pulled him closer, grabbed his left wrist and put his hand up his T-shirt. Mikey’s eyes widened again, feeling the warm hard muscles of the big man’s chest and belly. Man, the guy was _ripped_. It was really quite hot.

Biker dude smiled smugly. “Like what you feel, boy? Gotta be a nice change, eh, from those old smelly bastards and their shriveled dicks?”

Mikey nodded, for once at a loss for words, he couldn’t really deny that. 

“That’s what I thought. Now, as I said, you be all sweet and obedient to me, boy, and I’m not gonna treat you harshly. Deal?”

Mikey nodded again, strangely overwhelmed now by the tower of testosterone holding him close, pressing his hand against his powerful chest, unable to break away from the man’s intense stare. “D- deal,” he managed. 

“Good! Then get on all fours and put your fucking ass in the air, right now!” biker dude growled, pushing him off. 

It seemed, somewhere during this interaction, twelve-year old normal pre-street-Mikey had exited the building with a deep sigh, considering him a lost cause, because apparently street-whore-Mikey was now simply accepting this guy’s claim to dominance over him, and just obeyed. The bar was well-heated, so between that and working on the man’s cock, Mikey had warmed up pretty well by now, but he was still shivering as if naked in a snowstorm while he put his face in the floorboards and stuck his ass in the air, slowly parting his legs. Obeying or not, that monster cock still scared the shit out of him. 

The man chuckled behind him. “Can’t wait, eh?” 

Biker dude got down behind him, pressing his crotch into his ass, grinding it around, sliding his cock up and down between his ass cheeks, splaying a big hand out onto his back, keeping him pressed down. “Mmmm, yeah, that’s a nice little ass you have here, boy.” He grabbed a handful of hair again and pulled him up so he could speak right into his ear. “You’re a smart little whore, boy? You carry some lube?”

“In- in- in my jean jacket pocket…” Mikey managed, more grateful at the moment than he could ever express that monster cock’s owner had brought it up, as he was just too intimidated by now to dare demand fucking _anything_. 

Biker dude resolutely pressed him against the floor again and reached over his back for his jacket. He obviously found what he was looking for, as there was a slick and sticky hand groping at his asshole shortly after. Mikey moaned helplessly as large fingers slid inside him, nudging at his prostate, carefully scissoring him open. Damn, so far huge ripped guy sure wasn’t treating him harshly. 

“Fucking shameless,” biker dude said, while ripping the cover of a condom open behind him, but there was no hate or even contempt in his voice. 

Mikey was pretty far gone by the time biker dude finally stopped loosening him up, having moaned and fucked himself on the man’s fingers, jacking himself off, but he still gave up a fearful yelp when he felt monster cock push at his hole. 

“Easy, easy…” biker dude said, keeping his hips still with a scarily strong two-hand grip. “Just relax,” he comforted. “Just relax, I’m not gonna rip you.”

…and he didn’t. Somehow, slowly easing his way in, giving him time to adjust, monster cock managed to bury itself down to the hilt in his ass without tearing and with only minimal pain that, if he was going to be honest, was almost a good kind of pain by now. 

Mikey’s breath hitched, he was seeing stars and had never been so full in his life. He didn’t know if he was in gay heaven, was about to fall apart and start to cry like a baby, or was going to beg for mercy. 

The man started fucking him for real, and he _did_ beg for mercy, _begged_ him not to stop… like the little shameless whore that he was. 

Mikey came long before biker dude, and then came a second time when the huge cock inside of him just mercilessly kept pummeling his prostate. He was convinced his ass was gaping open like a drainpipe when the man finally finished and carefully pulled out of him. 

Huge ass biker dude had sure showed him a thing or two. 

Exhausted, Mikey rolled over on his back on the floor, still panting, shivering from the sweat cooling on his body. Biker dude got back on his feet, pulled off the condom and wiped his cock with some napkins from the bar before putting the monster back in his pants, lacing them up. “Okay, boy,” he said. “We’re done here. Put your rags on and scram!”

Mikey surprised himself by feeling oddly hurt at being dismissed so coldly after such a great fuck, but he quickly shook it off. What the hell did he expect? The man had had his fill, and he was no longer needed here. He still hesitated, putting his worn jeans and the sleeveless top on, pulling his long hair out of the back. “Uh, Sir…” he started carefully. “I- I know I said it was gonna be a freebie, but… You kinda look like you could spare a few dimes, so… Would you… I mean, could you… Please pay me. Please pay me something. Fifty quid… Forty? Twenty? I was obedient, wasn’t I? _Please_.”

“I will give you nothing, whore-boy. A deal is a deal. Now, get the fuck out of here!”

He knew insisting would be stupid, but against all his expectations the guy hadn’t been all brutal, so maybe he would actually understand. “Sir, please, I… My pimp… My pimp is a real brutal asshole, okay. He gives me a quota each night, I don’t meet that, he’ll beat me so fucking bad. I have to give him _something_ , and there’s no chance I’ll find another customer this early in the morning, not in this cold. _Please_.”

Biker dude turned to him. “Who’s your pimp?” he asked.

Mikey told him.

The man looked like he considered it for at least a few seconds, but then he shrugged his shoulders. “Not my problem, boy,” he said coldly. Again, he reached for him, grabbing hold of his arm, and as good as threw him against the exit. “Get the hell out of here before I beat you up myself!”

Mikey ran off.

\-----o0o-----

He couldn’t help it, he wept when he walked the ice-cold streets back to the dingy apartment he was forced to call ‘home’. He’d never felt more worthless in his life, he was again shivering with cold, he was near fainting with hunger, all men were fucking _assholes_ , and when he got back he would, without a doubt, be caned until his ass cheeks bled. He thought of just running away instead, but he didn’t even have enough money for a bus ticket out of town, the streets were too cold to sleep in, and there was nowhere to hide in this city anyway. His pimp knew the streets better than he did. He would find him, and then there would be even worse hell to pay.

By the time he dragged his sorry ass up the stairs he wished he had never been born.

His pimp was sitting on the couch when he walked inside; his two girls slumped down at either side of him. One of them was smoking a joint, and the other had fallen asleep. She didn’t stir when he snuck in and the smoking one only gave him a mean grin in greeting. They might be his sisters in captivity here, but they were too far gone to care about him. They weren’t his friends – he even refused to refer to them by their names in his head – and as so many times before, they would only look on with dazed eyes as he was beaten, pretending they didn’t hear his begging and crying. Hell, he was pretty damn sure at least one of them actually enjoyed it.

The man looked up at him, eyes promising a world of hurt. “You’re late.”

“I- I’m sorry, I was…”

“Shut the fuck up! Give me the money!”

He just stood there, not saying a word, not moving, not trying to explain himself. 

“The money,” his pimp repeated. He didn’t have to raise his voice; there was no mistaking the danger in it.

Joint-Girl giggled. “He doesn’t have it. Pretty boy has been out all night, and no one wanted to fuck his skinny ass.”

“Shut up!” their pimp warned the girl, who promptly clamped her mouth shut.

“That true, boy? You didn’t get a single customer last night?”

Hope returned, maybe he _could_ lie himself out of this. “It- it’s so damn cold outside, no one was… My strip was empty all night, I swear…”

“Take your pants off and show me your filthy asshole!” his pimp said.

Mikey paled. His asshole was still feeling the pummeling of the biggest cock he had ever had, it must be all red and puffy. 

“Did you hear me, boy?” Another warning in the deceptively calm voice.

The girl giggled again. “Oh, little Mikey’s so gonna get his lying ass striped,” she said, sucking on the joint and cackling at him. 

His pimp got up from the couch and walked up to him. “Get your pants off, turn around and show me your fucking asshole!” he ordered.

Mikey obeyed. What the hell else could he do? Behind him, the girl was laughing and giggling as he bent over and parted his ass cheeks. 

There was silence for a few seconds, while he shook violently at his pimp’s examination, waiting for the fury to unleash. It came soon enough. He was grabbed by the hair and jerked up so violently he thought the man would rip the whole handful out by the roots. “You dare steal from me, you fucking worthless retarded faggot?” he roared. “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ you.”

That might have been the end of him, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a sudden thunderous pounding on the front door. His pimp let go of him in pure surprise, the smoking girl swallowed her laughter, and the sleeping one bolted up in the couch with a confused expression.

Who the hell would come around here at this hour? 

His pimp pushed him out of the way and tentatively walked over to the door with suspicious wariness, looking out the spy hole. Whomever he saw out there, the way he tensed up it didn’t seem to be a welcome guest. He still opened the door. 

Mikey gaped in sheer astonishment. Huge ass biker dude? What the hell? 

“Hey, Dicky,” biker dude exclaimed as the door swung open, a huge shit-eating grin on his face. “’Dicky’ is all right, isn’t it? I mean, Richard is so formal, and we’re such good pals you and I, aren’t we? Yeah, I figured, since we’re so close and all, and you’re a, you know, huge dick, that would be all right with you. Right? Dicky? So, _this_ is where you hide out, eh? Thought I wouldn’t find you, eh?”

“What the fuck do you want?” his pimp, answered, and it was clear to Mikey just how intimidated he was, or he would have never stood for that kind of disrespect. 

“Oh, I want a lot of things, but for now, I’d like to have the money you owe me.”

His pimp ground his teeth. “We had an agreement. You know I don’t have it at the moment, you said you’d wait until…”

“Yeah, and now things have come up, and I don’t wanna wait anymore.” The cheery demeanor changed into a very threatening stance in the door. “Give me my fucking money, Dicky!”

“I told you, I don’t _have_ it.”

Mikey couldn’t help his malicious grin behind his pimp’s back. The shoe was on the other foot now, wasn’t it? Now his fucking asshole of a pimp knew what it felt like when someone who could really hurt you demanded money you didn’t have. Not that it would change things for _him_. He would still be caned until he bled as soon as biker dude left and his pimp would probably take out his additional anger for this on him, too. 

Unless biker dude beat his pimp to a pulp, that is. 

Mikey hoped biker dude would beat his pimp to a pulp. 

Sadly enough, biker dude instead seemed to soften some, nodding in apparent understanding of ‘Dicky’s’ difficulties in producing the money he owed. “Okay, you don’t have the money. I get it. Too bad! Well, I just have to come back another time then… Unless… You don’t have the cash, just give me one of your whores then, and we’re even. How about it, Dicky?”

Both girls gasped on the couch behind him. Mikey’s eyes widened. Would biker dude, really…? No, why would he? He’d thrown him out. Mikey hung his head. Biker dude would without a doubt take the youngest girl, because she could make him the most money, and he would still be caned today.

“I’m not gonna give you one of my girls, no fucking way,” ‘Dicky’ said.

“Okay, give me the boy, then!”

Mikey gasped.

“What? That worthless fuck? What do you want _him_ for?”

“In the right circles, boy-ass sells, especially with hair like that. You’ll get off easy here, Dicky, and the offer won’t stand. For the last time, give me the money, or give me the boy!”

His pimp didn’t hesitate this time. He walked back, grabbed Mikey by the arm, pulled him across the floor and shoved him through the door. He barely managed to grab his threadbare jeans on the go.

“Here, he’s yours, do what you want with him.”

“I most certainly will. Oh, and Dicky, never ask me for another loan!”

“Fuck off!” ‘Dicky’ said, slamming the door in their faces. 

Mikey hoped that was the last he would ever see of his former pimp.

“Come on!” biker dude ordered as he turned and walked away, Mikey struggling to keep up without falling down the stairs trying to put his pants back on. 

They walked down the street in silence, Mikey’s heart beating hard in his chest. As happy as he was to get away from his pimp, he really had no idea if this was actually good or bad for him. It might just be a classic case of ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’.

“Uh,” he finally dared speaking up. “So, do I belong to you now, or something?” he asked carefully.

“Unless you can cough up 25 000, then, yeah, you bet your skinny ass you do.”

Shit. 25 000.

“Are you…? So, I’m gonna…? You’re my new pimp now?”

“Nah, I’m not into that business. I thought I’d take you home, and you’d be my little maid, pet, and fuckbuddy, all rolled up into one nice tight little package. Yeah, you’ll be all sweet and obedient every day from now on, and I’ll feed you and clothe you, and be good to you, okay?”

“Uh… Right, okay, Sir.” Mikey said. What the hell else could he say? At least he’d get off the street, he’d be warm and full, and biker dude really was kind of hot, too, and, possibly, not quite as cruel as he looked. 

Biker dude turned to him, another wide shit-eating grin on his face. “ _Now_ is where you call me ‘master’, boy,” he said. 

Mikey’s eyes widened, this weird tingling sensation spreading between his legs. “Y- yes, Master,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

He stayed because of the money.

At first, that’s what Mikey kept telling himself. Slavery wasn’t actually legal; after all, it was just this silly game they were playing, sort of. The money, though, that was very real. 

Not that Mikey thought it was legal, either, to pin that $25 000 debt on him, but he knew how these people were thinking. According to the unwritten laws of these streets, his new ‘Master’ had passed up all that money only to save him from his former asshole of a pimp, and now he had to pay it back in some way. He walked – something that wouldn’t be very hard, the man was often away, conducting whatever shady business he was involved in, and it wasn’t as if he chained him to a bolt in the floor when he left – he _would_ be found, sooner or later, and then he would be in deep shit.

Mikey disliked being in shit, of any depth. 

Actually, he’d done some research, and some calculating, and had come to the conclusion that – considering the services he was providing here – he should be able to work the ‘debt’ off in about two years, and then even ‘the Master’ couldn’t deny he should be free to go. 

He just had to spend the next two years working up the courage to tell the big guy that. 

Yeah, the money he supposedly owed was the only reason he stayed with huge biker dude, also known as Michael Blake, Mikey had discovered, going through the man’s wallet first chance he’d had. 

Huh, how about that, he’d grinned, looking at the man’s driver’s license, they shared a first name. This was a funny fact that often made him refer to their odd coupling as ‘Little Mikey and Big Mikey’ in his mind, though he was pretty sure ‘Big Mikey’s' fist would turn the entirety of ‘Little Mikey’ into mush if he ever let that slip over his tongue. Games or not, ‘Big Mikey’ wasn’t joking about how he wanted his new pet to address him.

In fact, his ‘Master’ wasn’t really joking about any of this, which was entirely disturbing and not so little scary at times. The dude _did_ know slavery wasn’t legal, right? The man _was_ only into this whole BDSM-thing, right? Yeah, Mikey thought, Big Mikey did know, it was only he wanted all the juicy bits of it, but didn’t want to bother with this whole ‘safe, sane and consensual’-thing. 

Still, Mikey had to admit that apart from picking up a male whore from the street and demand he’d be ‘sweet and obedient’ for however long it pleased him, Michael Blake actually seemed to be a surprisingly sane person, and considering this whole thing wasn’t anywhere close to consensual, he really didn’t feel all that unsafe. 

Mikey did realize this might not be because his ‘Master’ actually _was_ sane or safe, but because he himself was completely fucked up in the head after years on the streets and from being trapped in the claws of people like his former pimp, but he found himself unable to care.

It seemed less important, somehow, when he was tempted with stuff like his own room, a nice clean bed, some pocket money now and then, as much food as he could eat and cool videogames on a big screen TV. 

So what if he felt like a total idiot when Big Mikey made him do the dishes wearing nothing but a tiny frilly white apron that didn’t cover his ass. So what if it was humiliating being trained like a dog to ‘act right’ around the big man, or to be pulled down over the man’s lap to be spanked when he didn’t learn fast enough. The ‘job’ he had to do here was not that demanding, either. Be sweet, be obedient and submissive, don’t talk back, do some household work and regularly be fucked in the most amazing ways ever by the hottest dude he’d touched in his life… 

Yeah, he could do that. 

In return he was never forced to get fucked by creepy old bastards, never made to freeze his ass off in the streets, or was caned until he bled. 

‘Master’ was careful with his belongings, Mikey included. He’d been here for almost two months now and hadn’t experienced anything worse than glowingly red and stinging ass cheeks, and truth be told, that _could_ be somewhat… stimulating, in certain ways.

Yeah, Mikey _didn’t_ stay only because of the money he owed, he had to admit, but because it was a good and easy life, too. In comparison, relatively speaking and all things considered… 

Mikey was just being pragmatic here that was all. It wasn’t as if he was developing any kinds of stupid _feelings_ for the big guy, or something. 

A few more weeks, and Mikey was developing stupid fucking feelings for the huge asshole of a fucker he was calling ‘master’ and at whose feet he was crawling around on his knees with no fucking shame left in his body at all. 

That was too fucking bad and real damn pathetic, seeing as there was no chance in hell his feelings would ever be reciprocated. He was a toy, that was all, and he’d better take as much advantage of the good stuff as he was able to, while it lasted.

\-----o0o-----

Michael halted just outside the coffee shop, took a sip from the cup and fished out his phone from a pocket in his leather jacket. Mikey promptly answered the phone Michael had given him after one and a half signal.

“Hey, Sweetie! I’ll be home in about an hour. Have dinner ready, yeah?”

Mikey just as promptly promised he would, and Michael grinned at the eager-to-please voice in his ear. The boy was a natural, really, easy to train, submissive to the core.

“Okay, see you later, Sweetie,” he said and hung up, putting the phone back, taking another sip. 

“The little girlfriend, eh?” 

Michael startled at the voice, turning his head. There was some middle-aged dude in an expensive suit holding an important looking briefcase standing right beside him, an identical paper cup to-go from the coffee shop behind them in his other hand. “Uh?” Michael said. Was Wall-Street-Guy talking to him? 

Wall-Street-Guy grinned. “Your girlfriend?” he repeated. 

Apparently, he _was_ talking to him. 

“She’s really sweet, eh? Young women these days, refuse to stay home and make dinner. Good on you for insisting on traditional values.” Wall-Street-Guy grinned even wider. 

Michael hid a sneer behind his coffee cup. Suit and tie men like that usually steered the hell clear from bikers like him, and most certainly didn’t start up small talk with one outside a coffee shop. However, this one seemed to want to prove he wasn’t intimidated and was relying on some good old-fashioned misogyny in an attempt to create common ground between them. 

“Actually,” Michael said. “It’s a him; and he’s my 24/7 live-in slave, not a damn girlfriend. He _is_ sweet though. Cutest fucking ass you’ve ever seen, and really good with the traditional values, too. Doesn’t talk back, does what he’s told, lets me fuck him in the ass whenever I want to and sucks cock like a fucking pro.” 

Wall-Street-Guy looked shocked to say the least. Michael could see the inner struggle play out on the man’s face. He probably wondered if he was being made fun of, and if, in that case, he dared show anger to a huge dude like him. If he believed him, he was probably dying to call him a disgusting fag to his face, but would definitely not dare to do that.

“Uh… right,” Wall-Street-Guy finally said and simply walked off with his fancy briefcase and steaming coffee cup, speeding down the street and disappearing into the crowds. 

Michael grinned.

\-----o0o-----

Mikey met him inside the front door, as usual when he’d been away all day, wearing a pair of loose grey sweatpants, a tight black and white striped long-armed t-shirt and a sweet smile.

The boy took his jacket, put away his boots and turned, obviously to skip back into the kitchen, where he had – Michael had only listened with half an ear to the boy’s chatter –apparently cooked something nice for him. 

Michael stopped him by grabbing the boy’s arm and pulling him back. He crushed Mikey to his chest and put a hand down his sweatpants, cupping his ass. “Put on the nice underwear tonight, eh?” he grinned, his fingers sliding over the lace, knowing by feel that this particular pair were black see-through women’s panties Mikey had bought all by himself with no prompting from him whatsoever. They were small and tight enough to keep his little cock in place just barely, and he was a sight for sore eyes wearing them, that’s for sure. 

Mikey blushed. 

Michael grinned at that, too. It was inconceivable to him how this slutty little street whore of a man was still physically _able_ to blush. 

He let the boy go. “If you fucked up dinner, again,” he warned, “girly panties isn’t going to save you, if that’s what you think.”

Mikey looked worried now, to say the least, escorting him out into the kitchen with considerably less bounce in the step. Bless the little longhaired perv, Michael thought, he was a decent enough houseboy, but damn was he ever a bad cook. There were times Michael had seriously worried the little guy was trying to poison him, only to get out of their ‘arrangement’. 

Michael stared at the kitchen table where his ‘dinner’ was laid out for him, a very nervous Mikey now standing on the other side of the table, fidgeting and giving him tentative smiles. 

“You made me fucking pancakes for dinner?” Michael growled, staring at a plate with a high stack of golden brown pancakes, looking around the kitchen for where the actual dinner might be hidden.

“Uh… Um… Aah… Uh… Yes, Master,” Mikey said. “Sorry?” he added. 

“What am I? A kid? I’m a fucking grown ass _man_. I’m hungry as fuck. I need a fucking real meal, not a fucking stack of fucking _pancakes_.”

Mikey backed away at every shouted word. “I- I’m really sorry. I tried to make a steak, well done, the way you like it, but- but, it kinda got a bit _too_ well done, and- and… I- I burned it, I’m reeeeaally sorry, I didn’t have time to start over, I…”

Michael sat down at his plate with a deep annoyed sigh. “I’m surprised you didn’t burn the fucking pancakes, too,” he muttered. 

“Only a few, in the beginning, before I got a hang of it,” Mikey admitted. 

Michael shook his head and put a fork into the top pancake, moving it over to his plate, grabbing the bottle of maple syrup Mikey had put beside it. “You’re a sweet fuck, boy. Thank your lucky star for that.”

“Yes, Master,” Mikey said.

Well, at least they _were_ well made and tasted nice enough, even if it was a stupid fucking dinner, Michael thought, pushing almost half a pancake into his mouth. “Okay, boy,” he said. “I guess they’re edible, but you still fucked this up, so you go kneel in the corner and think about it! And don’t take your nose out of that fucking corner until I tell you to, or I’m gonna flatten _you_ like a pancake!”

Mikey gasped, but seemed at least to have the decency to hang his head in shame as he turned and walked to a corner of the kitchen without a single peep in protest. He obediently knelt down on the floor, crossed his hands behind his back, and stared into the wall. 

Michael took his time finishing the pancakes.

When he did finish, he stood up and walked over to Mikey. “Don’t get up, boy,” he growled, “just turn around.” 

Mikey obeyed and Michael grabbed the back of his neck and pushed his face into his crotch. “Don’t you think you should compensate me for my sub-par dinner, boy?” he said.

The boy looked up at him with a salacious grin. “Yes, Master,” he agreed, his hands coming up to open up his pants.

Yeah, Mikey knew exactly what to do these days, and had quickly learned to handle his big-sized cock expertly. Damn if he wasn’t the most shamelessly eager cocksucker, Michael had ever come across, too. The regular blowjobs these days was worth those 25 000 alone.

Michael finished in the boy’s mouth with a growl, and Mikey swallowed with a seductive lick around his pink lips as he pulled out, looking like a cat finishing a bowl of cream. Michael patted him graciously on the head. “Not bad, boy! So, what would you say if I told you I want you to do this in public?”

The boy’s face fell as he looked up at him with wide blue eyes, a tinge of hurt in them. “You… You’re gonna make me whore myself out again?”

“No,” Michael said. “No boy of mine is walking any damn streets, getting into shit and catching God knows what… No, I meant it’s time I took you the bar and showed you off, boy. I didn’t get a sweet little piece of ass like you only to hide you away. What I’m saying is; I want my friends to see you suck my cock, slave.” 

He knew Mikey would know what he was talking about. The small illegal club he was running – and the place where he’d taken Mikey the night he’d met him – wasn’t an ordinary biker’s hangout, even if they’d done their best to make it appear as if it was. It was a place catering especially and exclusively to a small number of people around here with certain tastes and inclinations. People like him, gay men, who liked motorcycles… and to keep young men.

It was a point of pride for him and his cronies that these ‘slaves’ were shown to be obedient, well trained, devoted and skilled with their mouths and asses. It didn’t hurt, either, if they were good-looking, even if their behavior was the most important, reflecting on their ‘masters’ dominance and training skills. Of course, good looks were a matter of taste. Some preferred pretty men with androgynous looks; others wanted buff guys they could parade about flexing their biceps and pectorals. 

Michael could go either way, but this time, by sheer coincidence, he’d found himself a pretty-boy.

As pretty as his face was, though, Mikey didn’t really look like a girl, but the fact he was only twenty-two meant he was still youthfully slender with soft skin and large eyes. Taking him off the streets and cleaning him up meant he looked less hollow-eyed and starved these days, too and the long silky hair helped of course. Mikey could pass for the androgynous type with ease. 

The boy was also an absolutely delightful mix of experienced whore, innocent looks, and shameless submission. He’d wanted to show off this lucky find from the first day. 

Michael had refrained so far, though, knowing from experience it was a mistake to put a new boy in such a situation too fast. It didn’t matter how well they responded to these ‘games’ in private, being shown off at the bar was a completely different matter. He’d waited for a few months, teaching Mikey the ropes, molding the young man to his habits and preferences, making sure he wouldn’t embarrass him in front the others with panicking, or with sudden defiance. 

He was sure Mikey could take the stress, too. The little guy might be a stick figure, physically, but he was tough where it counted. Inside. 

Michael knew the type. Mikey hadn’t had an easy life, but still had a lot of spunk. He was a survivor. Mikey wasn’t stupid either, having no problems with stuff like reading, writing and basic math, even though Michael had learned the boy hadn’t even finished primary school. 

He did have a few flaws, of course, one of them being certain clumsiness when it came to practical matters. It wasn’t that the boy burned his dinners, spilled drinks in his lap, or broke the kitchen window with the butt end of a mop on purpose. Things like that just seemed to happen around him. Michael had no problems forgiving Mikey this clumsiness, even though he of course had to punish him for it. It wouldn’t do not to. 

The boy’s big mouth was a bigger problem then, as the same intelligence that had allowed Mikey to absorb as much as he had from his lacking schooling, had also given him a dry wit. This wit now and then slipped over his tongue in the form of a most un-slave-like sarcasm.

Michael never showed his amusement over these occasional displays of snarky wit, and was careful not to encourage this behavior, but deep down he was pleased with that his new pet had some brains. Submissive sweetness paired with a dumb and dull mind could only satisfy you for so long, after all, while a sweet, but clever, little bitch was just so much… well, sweeter. 

However, it wasn’t good if Mikey let his mouth run at the bar, or, God forbid was snarky toward his friends. So far, he had never needed to punish Mikey harder than the boy could handle, but if he did something like that, he might be forced to hurt him. Michael didn’t want to do that. No, he wanted this one to trust him. 

Oh, you’d better watch out, Michael told himself. Don’t develop feelings for this one; he’ll never reciprocate. He’s only here because the streets are a shitty place to live in.

Well, he’d explained to Mikey before what his bar was all about, and there was no mistaking the worry on the boy’s face now.

“You- you really think I’m ready for that?” he asked.

Michael grabbed Mikey by the hair at his neck and pulled the boy to his feet, staring strictly into his eyes. “When I take you, you _will_ be ready, and you will not do a single thing to embarrass me, or I’ll go medieval on your skinny ass, slave.”

Mikey’s eyes widened, and for a second Michael really thought he’d left the boy speechless, but then there was a shaky and nervous grin on his face. “Oh, okay, so, uh… no pressure at all then, Master.”

Michael shook his head. Yeah, it sure was high time he bought little Mikey a real good lockable gag.

\-----o0o-----

Big Mikey had bought him a few ‘presents’ lately, and far would it be from Mikey to be ungrateful, but damn if he didn’t hate these fucking gadgets. Actually, gratitude or no, he _would_ have complained about one of these presents in particular, if it weren’t specifically designed to stop him from doing just that.

He couldn’t _believe_ Big Mikey had bought him a fucking gag. 

Okay, the big bastard _had_ warned him what would happen if he didn’t learn to zip it, but Mikey hadn’t really taken it seriously, which meant he hadn’t worked very hard on keeping his jokes and sarcastic quips to himself. I mean, he thought, how could he? Some stuff was just impossible not to comment on, and some comebacks that formed in his head were just too perfect not to share with the world. 

Unfortunately, for Mikey, his world consisted of just one man, and he didn’t have a fucking sense of humor. 

The silver lining here – even as his master locked the uncomfortable gag around his head, Mikey did his best to stay positive – was that his mouth was a multi-purpose hole. He needed to eat and drink, after all, and to brush his teeth, and God forbid Master didn’t get his daily blowjobs. It meant Big Mikey didn’t let him wear the hated gag for more than a few hours at the most and never left him alone with it locked in place, or through the night. Besides, Mikey soon learned its usage was something he could actually control. He sucked more cock, and spoke less – his master wouldn’t use the gag. 

Goodness, weren’t life simple sometimes? 

None of this was true for the second ‘gift’ his master had graciously bestowed him with, and it was about to drive Mikey fucking nuts. 

Only a few days after his master had first suggested he would be brought to the bar to ‘meet his friends’, the man had straight up announced he had now decided this should happen in two weeks time, and that Mikey wasn’t allowed to come until then.

Mikey had really tried, but failed, not to giggle at such a stupid order. He was fucking twenty-two and swimming in a sea of hormones, living with Mr. Super-Body, who fucked him regularly in all the right ways with that huge pants monster of his – and the man thought he would even be _able_ to follow such an order. Bah, ridiculous. It couldn’t be done, and Big Mikey demanding that of him was just a joke, right? 

Right? 

That’s when Mikey learned what the male chastity device called a ‘cock cage’ was. 

Now, having worn it around the clock for eight horribly frustrating days in a row, with six more hellish days to go, he was pretty damn sure the inventor of this seemingly non-threatening little steel contraption was the biggest fucking sadist this world had ever known. His master was obviously the second biggest sadist, as he wasn’t in the least moved by the state of his ‘ever-bluer’ balls. 

If this was his master’s idea of a ‘gift’ Mikey didn’t want to know what he’d get him for birthdays and Christmas.

\-----o0o-----

“Here you are, Master,” Mikey said, successfully balancing a tray with a cold beer and a bowl of snacks over to the coffee table in front the big screen TV where Michael was waiting for the soccer game to start, looking proud.

Michael refrained from acknowledging succeeding with such a ridiculously easy feat, and if his boy was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He poured his beer and stood aside humbly, waiting for Michael to allow him to take a seat on the couch beside him. 

Mikey was allowed to watch TV, and play videogames, as much as he wanted to when he was alone in the apartment, as long as he finished his chores in time, but to cuddle up on the couch with his master was a privilege he had to earn. Obviously, tonight, Mikey had great hopes he would be allowed this honor, eagerly shifting feet beside the couch now, smiling sweetly and giving him coy fleeting glances under his long lashes, worthy of a fourteen-year-old virginal schoolgirl. 

Well, all right, Michael had to admit Mikey had been extra good and sweet the last few days. He’d done his chores well, not breaking a single object, had managed to make a few decent meals – or, at least hadn’t given him food poisoning – and had really made an effort behaving and keeping his pretty mouth shut. Michael supposed a bit of a cuddle on the couch _was_ in order. He gave Mikey a grin and gestured with his head for the boy to crawl up beside him. Mikey shone up and did just that, laying down on his side and putting his head in Michael’s lap.

Michael enjoyed the match and the cold beer, as well as the fact his frequent use of the gag lately had apparently finally taught Mikey not to make sarcastic remarks about what was on the screen. The boy had informed him several times how boring all kinds of sports were, and how stupid it was to watch grown men run around a field chasing a ball. He absentmindedly petted Mikey’s silky hair. Yeah, as funny as the boy sometimes was; he sure was pleasant when he was silent. 

As absentmindedly Michael stroke Mikey over his slender back and put a hand down his sweatpants. Oh, Mikey was going commando tonight, and… Mikey stiffened beside him when he put his hand between his ass cheeks and felt the plug. 

Michael grinned. “Been preparing for something tonight, boy?” he asked, making Mikey squirm by pushing at the base of the plug. 

“Uh-huh…” Mikey said, gasping. 

“Is that so? I seem to recall you expressed a bit of dislike the other day about me fucking you.”

“Ah… I… That-that wasn’t what I meant. I love it when you fuck me, Master. You can fuck me whenever you want, but…”

“But…?”

“It’s just so damn frustrating when I can’t come… Pleeeeeeease, Master, please fuck me, and please let me come. I haven’t come for almost two weeks. Twelve fucking days with no coming, Master. That can’t be good. Can’t it make me sick? I think it can make me sick. For real, Master, this will make me real fucking sick.”

Michael just grinned. “Nonsense, boy. You could go months locked into that cock cage and it wouldn’t hurt you one bit.”

Mikey gave up another gasp and bolted up beside him, his eyes wide in what looked like genuine fear. “You… You wouldn’t… Please tell me you wouldn’t…”

Michael couldn’t help sadistically hanging on to the answer, but finally gave the alarmed young man at his side an assuring shake of his head. “I’ve told you, this is only in preparation for your first time at the bar. I want you nice and horny, ready to shoot at a touch. Now, stop complaining about it. It’s only two more days, and then you can come as much as you like again.”

“But…” Mikey pouted. “But that’s nuts. Haven’t I shown already that I’m horny enough without being denied like this? I’m young, there’s nothing wrong with me, or my dick, and I’m a fucking whore, it’s not like I’m going to freeze up with people about, or something. I would have spurted for you at the bar anyway. If you take it off now, I promise I will spurt on fucking demand. I swear this isn’t needed. Pleeeease.”

Michael shook his head again. “If I said two weeks, you’ll wear it for two weeks, and that’s that!”

“But…” 

Michael grabbed Mikey’s jaw between fingers of steel, pressing his cheeks together. “You are exactly one word away from the gag, boy,” he growled, boring his eyes into Mikey’s.

Mikey lowered his gaze instantaneously, and kept quiet when Michael released him, sitting back in the couch, pouting and looking like a kicked puppy. 

Damn, but he was cute. For a moment, Michael was tempted to grant the boy’s wish, and bring back the radiant smile, but that wouldn’t do. It might be pleasant in the now to make the boy happy and have him eager and willing underneath him. It wasn’t as if Michael didn’t enjoy seeing the boy lose control and completely unravel when he fucked him, or that he wasn’t proud over how he could make Mikey come only by penetrating him. However, if he upheld the discipline, taught Mikey some self-control, and never went back on his word, he would create a much more stable thing between them. It would make this arrangement so much sweeter and enjoyable, for them both – for a long time to come.

Hey, Michael, thought, when had he decided this was going to be a long-term thing? 

“Look, boy,” he said. “I’m not playing games with you. You might not be happy right now, but in time, you’ll learn to appreciate that I’m a man of my words. If I’m fucking you tonight, it’s going to be done _my_ way, which means the cock cage stays in place, and you will take whatever other pleasure you can get out of it, because you’re _not_ coming until Friday. However, I’m sure as hell not going to take you by force. If you don’t think you can get anything out of it, and it will only make it harder for you to manage two full weeks, then you always have the choice to say no. So, what’s it going to be, boy?”

Mikey stared at his hands, fiddling with the hem of one of those tight little midriff-revealing t-shirts he liked to wear, and remained quiet, but then… “Please fuck me, Master,” he whispered, without looking up, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

Michael grinned. He had actually expected the boy to say no, wouldn’t have blamed him if he did, and certainly would have respected it, but he was pleased Mikey hadn’t. “You’re the neediest little slut I’ve ever come across, boy,” he said. 

“Yes, Master,” Mikey answered, and damn if that blush that still colored his cheeks, mixed with the shameless want in his eyes, and the impish smile on his lips, didn’t give Michael an instant hard on. 

With a growl, he grabbed Mikey by the shoulders and pressed him face down on the couch, lifting his ass up and pulling his pants down, reaching for the plug.

Mikey squealed and gasped at the sudden manhandling, but there was no mistaking the invitation in how he arched his back and pushed out his ass to him. 

Fuck, this whore would be the end of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn’t read my disclaimer in the note to the first, chapter… now would be a good time to do so.
> 
> /Fran

Mikey wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was so nervous walking into the bar behind his master he was about to throw up. He’d bragged about how easily he would be able to perform in public, but right now, he seemed to be inflicted with a severe case of stage fright. 

Damn, he thought looking about the room; did you have to have your biceps measured before you were allowed to become a master in this little club of theirs? All of Big Mikey’s friends seemed to be a Big-Something-Something. Shit, he’d never felt as small in his life. Big Mikey had promised he would ‘only’ have to perform _in front_ these people together with his master, and that he wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch his boy. Mikey still couldn’t help feeling as if he’d just stepped into a den of bears – _actual_ bears – that would attack and devour him the second he made a wrong move. 

He also noticed that these huge ass men, easily recognizable as ‘the masters’ by their demeanor and behavior alone, were no more than five, apart from his own master, and that only three of them had a boy of their own humbly standing behind them. However, just when he was about to study his ‘comrades in slavery’ closer, Big Mikey nudged him in the side and gave him a strict look. 

Right. You weren’t supposed to ogle the room like a wide-eyed owl. He quickly let his gaze drop and stepped closer to his master. Big Mikey seemed to have finished saying hello to his mates, all of whom had ignored Mikey completely, and now deigned to turn halfway to his intimidated boy and whisper in his ear.

“You all right, boy?”

“Yes, Master,” Mikey hurried to assure him. Big Mikey had put quite some work into preparing him for this, and Mikey just didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Even the experienced boys are usually antsy before these nights,” Big Mikey said. “The restroom’s through there.” He pointed discreetly. “Go and get a breather. Gather yourself.”

Mikey looked at the door to the restroom, thankful for the suggestion. “Ah, yeah, good idea. Thank you, Master. I _am_ okay, really, just a little nervous, you know, and… Right. No babbling… Sorry… I’ll…”

Big Mikey sighed in his ear, interrupting him. “Go! Don’t stay long!”

Mikey nodded in the affirmative and scurried away across the floor, trying not to bump into anyone, or look anyone in the eye. 

The restroom was rather large, all white tiles that were worn and cracked but clean, had a row of three hand basins along one wall, and five toilet stalls on the opposite wall. The ceiling light was stark and white, making him blink as he stepped in from the darker barroom. There was no one in the open space, but he could hear noises from inside the stalls, so, Mikey guessed that accounted for the two ‘missing’ slave boys out there. Right, he wouldn’t be the only one who was nervous and needed a breather before the ‘entertainment’ started. 

These masters were oh so considerate, weren’t they? 

Well, Mikey didn’t really need to pee and was under strict orders not to touch his, woefully still caged, cock in any case, or the plug in his ass, so he went up to one of the large mirrors over the basins and looked himself over. 

He didn’t look bad tonight, did he? Mikey grinned at his reflection in the mirror and checked his makeup, brushing off a speck of mascara that had fallen on his cheek. He wasn’t heavily made up, or anything, not like a girl. He’d only lightly put on some concealer to hide a bit of darkness under his eyes, and that damn pimple on his chin that had decided to suddenly appear this morning, out of pure spite, Mikey was sure. He’d also enhanced his already naturally long eyelashes a bit, and created a smokey shade around his eyes with dark eyeliner. 

Mikey had dressed for the part, too, in a pair of worn black skinny jeans – the pants legs pushed down a pair of knee-high lace-up boots – that hung so low on his narrow hips you could easily spot the women’s lace panties he was wearing. The black lace underwear was matched by a tight black mesh top with elbow-long sleeves and a hemline that ended an inch above his bellybutton, showing off his slender waist and flat stomach. He looked down and patted his tummy, a part of him wishing he would have the same kind of square abs Big Mikey had, but he supposed willowy smoothness did suit him better overall. Hey, he should get a bellybutton piercing. His master would approve, for sure. 

He leaned closer to the mirror and checked that his hair was parted up nicely, before straightening up and shaking it all back, feeling the silky straight mass brushing his ass. Yeah, he really didn’t look all that bad. Mikey very much doubted any of the other boys would have hair even close to his long and thick mane, for example. He’d make an impression for sure, and Big Mikey would be proud of him. 

For once.

That’s when he realized there was someone standing behind him, a pale glaring face in the mirror next to his smug one. Mikey startled and spun around, his jaw dropping at the sight before him. 

One of the other ‘boys’ had apparently finished up in the stall and come out to witness him admiring himself in the mirror, and all Mikey could think seeing him was ‘Damn’. 

The other boy was fucking _gorgeous_. 

Mikey kept gaping. He’d never seen a better-looking guy in his life and suddenly felt absolutely ridiculous having thought he looked anywhere close to good. As if anyone would ever as much as give him a single glance with this otherworldly creature in the same room. 

The other guy was probably a few years older, but that might be the only advantage Mikey could ever hope to have over him, as he was obviously inferior in all other ways. The guy was almost as willowy as he was, but was a good head taller, giving him the body of a runway model, and a positively statuesque appearance. Mikey might disappear among the huge men out there but this guy would be hard to miss anywhere. His face was stunning, too, sharp high cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, straight nose and full lips, but there was also certain softness to his symmetrical features that made him downright beautiful rather than just handsome. His eyes were the iciest of blues, his skin was completely flawless, and his hair…

Oh, fuck, Mikey thought, the guy’s hair was easily as long as his, maybe longer seeing as the guy was so much taller, and it was equally straight silky and thick. The only difference was that it was blond. A most fantastic shiny brilliant blond. 

Shit, Mikey kept swearing inside his head. The guy was like the offspring of a Viking God and an Arch Angel and would probably make a Neo-Nazi – even a straight one – cream his pants just looking at him. 

“Uuuuh…” Mikey started, as Mr. Viking-Angel-Apparition didn’t seem to be in here to curb any kind of nervousness at all and just kept staring at him with a sour expression. “Uh… um, hi! I’m…”

The guy didn’t let him finish, he simply stalked up to him, and scarily fast – Mikey never really saw what was coming– he grabbed a hold of Mikey’s arm, spun him back around, pressed him down over the hand basin and pulled his arm so high up along his back Mikey seriously feared he would break it clean off. 

What the fuck.

Mikey couldn’t help it; he gave up an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal in both fear and pain, his heart beating like a jackhammer. 

Mr. Gorgeous-Blond pressed him harder against the basin, the rim pressing painfully into his stomach, and pushed his arm even higher up when he tried to squirm himself free. Mikey gave up the fight though, when the guy’s other hand twisted into the hair at his neck, fearing he would get his face bashed against the faucet. 

“No need for introductions,” Mr. Now-Scary-As-Fuck, hissed in his ear. “I know who you are. I can’t believe Master Michael would pick up a fucking disgusting _street whore_. I thought he had better taste.” 

“I’m not…” 

“Shut up, whore! You deny you’re a prostitute?”

Mikey didn’t answer. He couldn’t really deny that, after all, could he? 

“That’s what I thought,” Mr. Turned-Out-To-Be-A-Fucking-Asshole said. “You should know a few things, whore. None of us other boys is a fucking lowlife prostitute. Get it? Even if you weren’t new, that places you at the fucking bottom here, and you had better remember it. You think you’re pretty, eh? You think you’re good enough? Think again, whore! You think he hasn’t had pretty boys before? None of them lasted more than a year, and you won’t either. You think you’ll be a good slave? You think he’ll be proud of you? You fucking sorry deluded little shit. I’ve been in this scene for years and I’ve seen your kind come and go. There’s nothing special about you, you little fuck, admiring yourself in the mirror as if you think you’re better than us… He’s kept you for months and you haven’t even earned a collar yet? Fuck, you must be the worst boy he’s had so far. Enjoy it while it lasts; whore, because you’ll be back selling your skinny ass on the street again within a few weeks, at the most.”

Mikey couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes. Mr. Poisoned-Tongue’s words hit way too close to home to dismiss and all his usual snarky comebacks escaped him. “F-fuck you!” he still managed, thinking he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least say _something_.

“Yeah?” Mr. Neo-Nazi-Centerfold said, snarling in his ear, pushing his face dangerously close to the faucet. “Don’t fuck with me, whore! You think we’re equals just because we’re both someone’s boy? Think again, you little shit! You think I don’t have influence here? _My_ Master actually values me, and if I tell him you were rude to me, he’ll believe me. He’ll tell Master Michael, and he’ll whip your sorry ass to shreds for embarrassing him.”

“He- he wouldn’t… He…”

“Yeah? You think he wouldn’t? You think he’d spare you? I’ve known Master Michael for years, he would fucking flay the skin off your disgusting second-hand ass. And don’t you try pulling the same trick on me, whore, no one will believe _you_.”

“W-what do you _want_?” Mikey said, angry with himself for not being able to keep his voice steady. 

“I want some fucking respect, whore. Respect my collar! Don’t talk to me, don’t stare at me, don’t fucking think you’re special. Know your _fucking place, lowlife_!”

Right, apparently there was as strict a hierarchy among the boys, as between the Masters and the boys. Mikey wished Big Mikey could have fucking, oh, mentioned that fucking vital fact sometime during his training so that maybe he could have avoided this utterly humiliating situation, but apparently, he was supposed to find out on his own. 

“O-okay, okay I will. I’ll know my place and I won’t forget, I swear. I… I’m sorry… Sir?” he tried, utterly and thoroughly defeated, by Mr. Genetically-Perfect.

Apparently, that was the correct attitude, as Mr. Blond-Perfection suddenly released him.   
Looking at his hands as if Mikey was dirtier than the toilets, he quickly washed them off under the faucet at the hand basin next over and then simply majestically strode out the restroom without another word or another glance in his direction.

Mikey watched him leave. Mr. Top-Level-Boy’s perfect ass was dressed in a pair of black skintight leather pants, legs stuck into a similar pair of boots as his own and his gorgeous hair moved over a black leather harness that he wore over his naked, slender and flawless upper body, topped, indeed, by a wide metal collar. 

The outfit would have been ridiculous, really, if the guy hadn’t rocked it with such absolute and undeniable _pride_. 

Mikey felt at his own empty throat, thinking that if someone had told him only a few months ago he would feel a burning jealousy at _not_ being collared like a fucking dog; he would have laughed straight in their faces. 

There was a low chuckle behind him, and Mikey spun around with a start for the second time this evening. The second ‘missing’ boy had apparently also finished up sometime during Mikey’s encounter with Mr. Prettiest-Slave-In-The-House, and must have witnessed the whole thing.

“I see you met Blondie,” he said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning.

This ‘boy’ was quite different from ‘Blondie’. He was much older, for one thing, maybe around thirty, and couldn’t be called pretty in any sense of the word. He had an open and friendly face by all means, with laugh-lines at the corner of the brown eyes, but it was ordinary and unremarkable. His sandy hair was short, looking like a newly grown-out buzz cut, and he seemed to have no other noteworthy traits either. He did have a nice body, though, tanned and finely muscled with a slim waist and broad shoulders. He wasn’t nearly as buff as the masters out there were, but it was obvious he was working out and was happy to show off the result in a similar outfit as Blondie. Tight leather pants, boots and harness. Above all, _he_ was also wearing a collar, though his was a thick chain with a padlock and tag. 

Mikey started to feel, quite, _quite_ worthless. 

“What?” he snarled, drying at tears of humiliation spilling down his cheeks. “You want a shot at putting me in my place, too?” 

The other boy just shook his head with a smile. “That’s Blondie’s job around here,” he said. “Don’t mind him; he does that to all the new boys. He scared the crap out of me, too, at my first night.”

Mikey stared at the guy’s abs and arms. “Uh, you have to be stronger than him,” he pointed out. 

“I’d probably easily take him in an arm wrestling match, yeah, but it’s not about physical strength, is it? Blondie is top dog around here, and that’s just the way it is. Don’t mind him, but don’t fuck with him either. Just keep your head down and stay out of his way, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, considering the things he said to me, not ‘minding’ him is not that fucking easy you know. You heard him. None of you are prostitutes, and I’m just a fucking disgusting whore.”

“Well,” the other guy said, his friendly smile not waning for a second. “I guess he was technically correct about that none of us is, or ever was, in that business. I’m actually a plumber, and I’m only doing this at weekends. Most of us have jobs and ordinary lives at the side, though Blondie is a live-in 24/7-one and is very dedicated to the whole thing. Look, boy, if Master Michael really found you in the streets… I’m sorry; it must have been a harsh life, but except for Blondie none of us care about your background, so, don’t mind him, okay. If you’re a nice guy, that’s all we care about.”

“Oh…” Mikey said, still not entirely sure he could trust that. “Okay. I wouldn’t… I mean, if Master allows it, I’d like to get to know you all, and… Well, ‘Blondie’ can go fuck himself, but… I never meant to be, like, shitty to anyone. I don’t think I’m better than you, or anything. I swear I’d never be cocky like that.”

“I didn’t think you would,” the other boy answered with yet another smile. “Well, I have to go back to my Master before he comes looking for me, or I will have a red ass tonight, so… You might want to clean up that eyeliner a bit before you go out, too, and… Don’t worry, okay. Blondie might seem scary ‘behind the scenes’, but he’s the most obedient little puppy you’ve ever seen with a master around. He won’t dare say a word to you out there, so don’t be afraid to go back out.”

The other boy walked past him with an encouraging smile and a pat on his shoulder and disappeared out into the barroom. 

Mikey turned and looked in the mirror, cursing at the state he was in, grabbing some paper towels to clean the mascara off his cheeks. Yeah, this hadn’t exactly made him less nervous, but he simply had to believe the friendly guy was right, and that he didn’t need to fear Blondie among the masters. Because he had absolutely no other choice than to go back out there and try his best not to disappoint Big Mikey, unless he wanted to be back in the streets even faster than Blondie had predicted.

\-----o0o-----

When Mikey came back into the barroom, all six masters had taken a seat around the largest table, and their boys were all kneeling beside their chairs, except for one willowy little thing – not unlike himself, though with short curly hair – who had apparently been chosen to serve the masters some beverages. Blondie was also kneeling humbly at his master’s chair, his hands crossed behind his back, and his gaze on the floor. His new enemy didn’t look up when Mikey quickly passed to sink down beside Big Mikey’s chair, assuming the same position, but his heart still beat hard in fear. 

Big Mikey leaned down to him.”What took you so fucking long, boy?” he growled. “You didn’t’ try to play with your dick, did you?”

Mikey looked up at his master, alarmed. He really shouldn’t fear Blondie more than his master, and weren’t it just fucking typical if that damn asshole would get him punished, too, for something that really had been the farthest from his mind in there, what with being threatened and manhandled, and all. “No, Master,” he tried. “No, I swear I wasn’t. I was… Uh… I- I talked with one of the other boys. I’m sorry, I thought it was allowed?”

His master only muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and turned his attention back to his friends around the table, but not for long. After a few minutes, he loudly tapped a cocktail stick against his glass as if he was announcing a speech and got up from the chair, pulling Mikey up with him. 

“As you all know,” he started, holding Mikey by the shoulders in front of him. “I’ve been training a new boy. I thought you’d like to see what my latest little bitch has learned so far.”

There was a round of appreciative and lewd sounds from the men around the table. 

Mikey dared glance up for a few seconds and saw how they pushed their chairs back, their boys getting in between their knees, and how they grinned and leered at him. They were really going to make the best of this ‘presentation’, weren’t they?

Big Mikey pulled him back a bit to make room for them and reached around to unzip his pants.

Oh boy, Mikey thought, here we go.

\-----o0o-----

Okay, Michael thought, here we go. 

He reached around Mikey to unzip his pants, hoping Mikey would simply be too horny once the cock cage came off, to forget being nervous. He hadn’t gone through the whole thing more than very briefly with Mikey, not telling him details of what was going to happen. Michael didn’t want any acting tonight, but wanted the boy’s genuine reactions.

Of course, there were many risks in doing it this way, such as Mikey reacting badly being surprised with this and that. He could only hope the boy trusted him enough by now to believe he wasn’t going to get hurt, and that Mikey was tough enough to handle not knowing exactly what was to come.

Michael had a lot to gain on Mikey doing well tonight. Master Steve had been challenging his leadership in their little gang lately, gaining certain support among the others _he_ was the best trainer around here. Seeing as Steve had Blondie, who, Michael had to admit, was a damn fine and well-trained boy, and that he himself hadn’t had a boy at all for a while before finding Mikey, the others had started to listen to Steve. 

If Mikey didn’t pull off one hell of a performance tonight, then Michael might not be re-elected president of their club at the biannual election in a few weeks. 

He hadn’t explained any of this to Mikey, as he was only sure to cave in under such pressure. Better letting him believe there wasn’t much to this. 

Now, Mikey had only been in this scene for a few months, and there was no way he was ever going to be able to perform better than any of the other boys present, and certainly not close to as well as Blondie would perform, but, he didn’t need to.

These masters had seen it all before, and even though a well-trained and well-behaved boy was what they all strived to create and appreciated in each others’ boys, skill in this area was ‘routine excitement’ by now. They would get off on it, as they always did, but it would take more to get them really excited. 

He hoped Mikey’s unbridled desire to be treated as the little slut he was, his constant failure in curbing his insatiable needs, and his ability to come several times in short concession, would make them this excited. Mikey just needed to be himself, really. 

Michael could only hope Mikey wasn’t too nervous to let go, because, bless the little whore, this early on in his training, genuine enthusiasm _was_ all he had going for him. 

He held Mikey close to him, an arm around the boy’s chest, feeling Mikey’s heart beating hard, while he reached out to a table nearby and snatched up a coil of rope he’d put there earlier. Michael would make sure Mikey wasn’t going to try to touch himself during this performance. Tonight, Mikey’s little dick was his, and his alone.

Mikey didn’t know about the rope and gasped as he saw it coil over his shoulder, but he stayed still. Good boy, Michael thought, pleased with how Mikey seemed to accept the situation. He’d introduced some light bondage in the last weeks and even if it had made Mikey nervous in the beginning, he’d soon got into it, admitting he found the added sense of helplessness exciting, at least in a safe and familiar context. This was different though. Being helpless with six big men close by would be much scarier, and Michael was going to tie him up more harshly than he’d done before. 

He looped the rope around Mikey’s left shoulder, and under his armpit, then around the right shoulder, making a figure eight across his shoulder blades, pulling his shoulders back, then he forced his hands up along his back, and tied the wrists to the center of the eight. Michael tied off the rope tightly, leaving no wiggle room whatsoever. These were no playful knots, and no silk scarves spreading him out on a comfortable mattress. 

Mikey kept gasping at the treatment, more than likely finding it very uncomfortable, and maybe slightly painful, but he let it happen. Michael noted the pleased looks on the gathered men. They liked little Mikey’s wide-eyed acceptance, even at his shock, no doubt, the sight making them urge their boys to tend to their cocks with greater enthusiasm. 

Michael ran his hands along Mikey’s lean sides and pushed his opened pants a little bit farther down his smooth and pale thighs together with the girly lace panties, before starting to fiddle with his cock cage, unlocking it. 

There was no mistaking Mikey’s excitement at the prospect of getting rid of the cock cage. He was trembling all over, trying to suppress little whining sounds and gasps by biting at his lower lip, his bound hands twitching in frustration. 

Michael grinned. Mikey had _not_ liked the cock cage, and by now it would probably only take a few strokes to make him come. He only carefully removed the cock cage though, trying to touch Mikey as little as possible in the process. He would tease the boy a bit longer, making him beg to be fucked, making him crawl at his feet and beg for release. Michael kept grinning, looking down at Mikey’s cock over the boy’s bound shoulder and seeing it fill up to a full erection almost as soon as it was set free. 

The little horny slut couldn’t wait, could he?

Starting to get quite aroused himself by now, Michael leaned down to breathe hotly into Mikey’s ear. “I’m gonna take you so hard, boy,” he growled. “I’m gonna plow your tight little ass right in front of all these men, I’m gonna…” 

…and just like that, Mikey came. 

Jizz shot out all over Mikey’s stomach and chest, so thick it stayed like silly string, while the boy sagged against him with a relieved sigh. 

For a dreadful second or two, Michael was so stunned he was at a complete loss about how to proceed. He hadn’t counted on Mikey being _so_ sexually frustrated, he would fucking spurt only at Michael talking dirty to him. He hadn’t even finished the sentence for fuck’s sake. 

Then the cheering started.

The gathered men hooted, whistled and laughed. ‘Whoa!’ Master Rodney shouted, ‘you really know how to pick them, Mike.’ ‘What a major slut’, Master Matt added. ‘Creaming yourself only at your master’s voice, eh, slutboy’, Master Steve said. ‘Never seen the like. Here’s too slutty boys’, he finished loudly, taking a big gulp from his beer tankard as he pushed his cock deeper down Blondie’s throat, making his boy choke. The others raised their tankards as well, heartily agreeing overly slutty boys were indeed a thing to cheer. There were more choking sounds under the table. 

Michael smiled. His friends were both aroused and entertained already, and it struck him, that, yeah, he couldn’t remember any other boy here having managed this trick before, coming only at their masters’ voice, without any touching whatsoever, not even after having been denied for a longer time. Good boy, Michael thought. Still…

He leaned down to speak into Mikey’s ear a second time. “That had better not be the last time you come tonight, boy,” he warned, putting a strong hand at his neck for further emphasis. 

Mikey hung like a kitten caught by the scruff of the neck in his grip, but he shuddered and nodded, still too dazed to answer properly it seemed, but damn if the dominant manhandling and the growled warning wasn’t starting to make the boy hard _again_.

\-----o0o-----

Michael was mightily pleased with himself when he stumbled home late at night, drunk as a skunk. Rodney had said it; he sure knew how to pick them, didn’t he? Oh, yes, little Mikey was a real find, all right, and had not failed to entertain the room, even after his first, unplanned, spurt. 

He had had Mikey crawl at his feet, showing off his cute little plugged ass, begging sweetly to be allowed to suck his master’s cock, and Michael had taken him so deep in his throat you might think the boy had snake genes. Fully hard and aching to take his boy, he’d slammed Mikey onto his back on the table, tankards of beer tilting over and crashing to the floor, pulled out his plug, and fucked him like there was no tomorrow. Once again, Mikey had come without his cock being touched. The men had cheered, having formed a standing ring around the table, jerking off to Mikey’s whimpers and frustrated sobs. Michael had pulled out and let them gather close to come all over him.

What a sight he’d been, bound and gasping on the table, legs pulled wide, his hole red and puffy for all to see, lacy panties torn and wrapped around one of his ankles, his long hair spread out around his flaming cheeks and wide eyes, hot strings of fresh cum all over his face and skinny chest…

Michael had pushed his cock into Mikey’s mouth, and added his own spunk deep down his throat, making him swallow every drop.

Mikey had been shaking so badly Michael had had to hold him up as he pulled the boy from the table, hanging in his arms like a wet rag while he untied him and helped massage some life back into his numb arms, but damn if the boy hadn’t still been grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining. 

He was just the best little slut Michael had ever had. 

Well, later in the evening the masters had let the boys socialize, between serving them – Michael noticed Mikey steered clear from Blondie as much as he possibly could, but seemed to get along fine with the others – but eventually they had sent the boys home, and continued the party on their own. They had had things to discuss that weren’t for their ears, and they usually didn’t want to get _too_ fucking drunk with their subs around anyway. 

Michael was almost too fucking drunk, walking home, but it had been a great night out. 

Mikey was standing in the hallway when he crashed through the door, either having waited up for him, or, which was more likely, having been stirred from sleep by his loud and slurred off key singing in the stairs. The boy dutifully assisted in getting his boots off, and supported his unsteady gate toward the master bedroom, helping him get rid of his leather jacket and starting to unlace his pants.

He looked down on Mikey’s bowed head where he fiddled with the strings, trying not to fall over. 

The boy had transformed into the young, fresh and innocent version of himself again, having a little baby-blue t-shirt on for sleeping together with loose-fitting grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He had cleaned up, too, hair still damp from a recent shower and smelling very nicely. It was hard to believe this boy was the same as the shameless little whore in the bar, dressed in slutty torn clothes, who had happily let a circle of men spurt in his face, but then Mikey looked up at him. He eyed his master with this hopeful, almost hungry, look on his face, his sweet lips slowly parting, as if he was going to start to beg for…

Oh no. No fucking way. Michael had to put a stop to this right this instant. What? Did the boy think he was some kind of fucking sex machine? He was much too tired and drunk to provide another fuck. Jeez, the boy was insatiable. Not that Michael would admit it, but damn, he wasn’t twenty anymore and as fucking hot as the boy was, he just had to get some fucking sleep here. 

“Okay,” he declared strictly. “That will be all. Go back to bed!”

Mikey switched on the puppy eyes and pouted, but Michael would not be swayed by such simple tactics. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders before he had a time to open his mouth again, turned him around and gave him a not too gentle slap on the ass. “Shoo!” he said. “Go to your room!”

Mikey hung his head and his shoulders slumped, but there was not a word of protest as he shuffled out of the room in apparent misery.

Michael was too drunk and tired to care; he kicked off his pants and crashed into bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Michael was woken up much earlier than he would have liked, growling a very testy ‘hello?’ into his phone, grabbing it off his nightstand without opening his eyes. 

It was one of his many business associates. 

Michael had business interests all over the city, most of them actually legal, a few a bit shady, all of them fairly profitable. He lived well off them, but, of course, he couldn’t be everywhere at the same time. He had people out there taking care of stuff for him. 

Some of those people were fucking _idiots_ , and none so much as the one who was calling him now, making him painfully, head-pounding-dry-sock-in-the-mouth, aware of his quite extensive hangover. 

However, there was nothing to it, the idiot had screwed up in a way he simply had to drag himself out of bed and go fix it himself, which he would do, and then he would fucking kick that fucker’s ass, _and_ fire it.

Michael had no time for either a shower or breakfast. He brushed his teeth, pulled some normal clothes on, drank half a liter of water, and headed for the door. 

Mikey had gotten out of bed, too, but Michael was in such a foul mood, the boy just sneaked along the walls, tried not to be in his way and didn’t say a word, until he opened the front door and was about to step out in the stairs.

The boy reached out and tugged at his sleeve, halting him. “Master, wait! A- are you gonna…? You’re gonna be gone for long? I- I mean, when you get back, could we…? I mean, could we talk some, and…”

Michael tore his sleeve out of Mikey’s soft grip, annoyed. What the hell was with the boy now? Was he suddenly going to be all clingy and shit? If he wanted someone literally clinging to his arm, demanding he stay around all day, and nag him about having ‘talks’, he’d get himself a damn _girlfriend_. “Later, boy,” he growled, stepping outside and closing the door in Mikey’s face. He had a headache the size of the city, and he didn’t have time for this shit.

\-----o0o-----

Michael wasn’t in much better mood when he returned home later that afternoon. Granted, he’d eaten and popped some headache pills, and relatively successfully gotten over his hangover, but his business associate – scratch that, his _former_ business associate – really had left him with a fucking mess, and it had taken hours to sort it out. 

It would have been nice if Mikey had drawn some fucking conclusions from his bad mood this morning, about his master’s needs, taking care to be extra sweet, meeting him in the door, or had used the day going at least a little bit out of his lazy ways to fix him some fucking dinner, but nooo. 

There was no boy greeting him with a coy smile, and no smell of food from the kitchen. In fact, the apartment was eerily quiet and still, no sounds from the TV the boy usually kept on as background noise, or anything.

For a horrible moment, walking inside, Michael feared the boy had simply left him.

Mikey hadn’t. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his hands in his lap, head hanging, looking exactly as sulky as he had this morning. What? Was he still miffed Michael had thrown him out of his bedroom last night? He’d been _tired_ , for goodness sake. Michael couldn’t help it, he was angry. “What the hell is the matter with you, boy,” he yelled. “Quit fucking moping around! Haven’t you done a single useful thing all fucking day?”

Michael had expected fear at the angry roar, Mikey apologizing and springing into action, starting his dinner, or maybe a bout of, admittedly very unusual, defiance. He had _not_ expected Mikey to put his face in his hands and burst out weeping like a small child, his shoulders shaking with big heaving sobs. 

Okay… Shit… Apparently, this wasn’t about being sulky and contrary, but Michael had no fucking idea what it _was_ about, and more to the point, how he could fix it. 

“Hey,” he said, crouching down in front of Mikey, awkwardly pushing his hanging hair out of the way. He was good at dominating young men, keeping them in check, making them happy in servitude, and to satisfy them with his huge cock, he was fucking _not_ good at comforting one who seemed to have some sort of weird, and very uncomfortable, breakdown. “Hey, come on, Sweetie, what’s the matter?” he tried, sounding as comforting as he was able, which, he feared, wasn’t much. 

“I- I’m not fuck-hic-ing go-good enough,” Mikey managed, sobbing still and refusing to look up from his hands. “I try to be a good boy to you, I _try_ , but I’m fucking ne-eeeever gonna be good enough.”

What? Michael was more confused than ever. Mikey was easily the best boy he had ever had, and he was sure he’d told him so, too… 

Hadn’t he?

Michael got back up on his feet and looked down at the weeping boy. He started to feel pretty shitty. It could be he actually _hadn’t_ been telling Mikey how good he was that very often, or how pleased he actually was with him. He admitted he wasn’t a romantic and cuddly kind of person even at the best of times, but he did know subs needed some encouragement now and then. Aftercare, and all that. It was a chore sometimes, he would confess to that, and he did prefer boys who weren’t so needy for constant coddling and reassuring. He liked the sweet and obedient kind who was eager to please, yes, but who also weren’t whiny, weak and completely lacking in self-esteem. As contradictory as it might seem, he liked a boy with a bit of emotional independence. 

Mikey had seemed perfect in that regard, too. The little guy was tough as nails, after all, having survived years in the streets without anyone coddling him. However, it seemed even Mikey’s toughness had its limits, and Michael really hadn’t been very kind to him lately, had he?

It could be the need to socialize with his mates at the club before the coming election, had distracted him from assuring Mikey he’d done well. Furthermore, thinking about it, maybe it _wasn’t_ sex Mikey had wanted last night, eyeing him so wistfully in his bedroom. Maybe he’d only wanted a simple pat on the head, and a ‘good boy’. Mikey _had_ been very nervous about the whole thing, after all, and was probably eager for his master to confirm he hadn’t screwed up. 

Oh, damn, the boy had only wanted some well-deserved praise, and Michael had shooed him away with a slap on his ass. 

He’d been an asshole to the boy this morning too, but he really hadn’t meant to. It was just that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, had a hangover, and was angry with his idiotic ex-business partner. It wasn’t that he’d been in any way displeased with _Mikey_. 

Michael crouched down again. “No, no,” he said. “For goodness sake, boy. Of course you’re good enough. You did really well yesterday, the other masters loved you.”

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Mikey claimed bitterly, his sobbing showing no signs of weakening. “Blondie told me. He-he _told_ me wha-what a fucking worthless shit I am. Your other boys before me weren’t fucking disgusting street whores, and- and none of them lasted even a year with you. No way am I gonna last either, and- and… I- I- I haven’t even gotten a fucking co-hic-ollar yet,” Mikey finished, weeping even louder, hiccupping and shaking.

Michael sighed deeply. “For fuck’s sake, Mikey, don’t listen to Blondie! That little bitch just likes to fuck with your mind. You don’t get it, it’s not like he says at all.” 

Damn, that blond bitch, Mikey swore inside his head. He was a perfect sub and fucking scarily beautiful, but a real evil little motherfucker nevertheless. It didn’t surprise him at all to hear he’d been doing a number on Mikey’s scene-inexperienced mind and made him all insecure. If he didn’t need to be on good terms with Master Steve right now, he’d tell him to rein in his fucking boy, and give the bitch a good thrashing, until he learned to respect other Masters’ belongings. 

Well, even if Blondie hadn’t been lying outright, the situation really wasn’t how he’d obviously presented it to Mikey. 

It was true, Michael’s three former boys hadn’t lasted more than about a year each, but it wasn’t he who’d ended it; they had all left _him_. The first one had simply met another man and run off with him instead. The second one had had a job offer abroad, with career opportunities he couldn’t refuse, and had moved. They had tried a long distance thing for a while, but it hadn’t worked out in the end and they had parted on friendly terms. They still talked on the phone now and then. The last one had been shamed into giving up the lifestyle entirely, by his fundamental douchebag family, and was probably living in some miserable sham of a marriage right now, Michael didn’t know, he’d lost all contact with the guy. It was a damn shame, as he’d been a very good boy, too, though not quite as deliciously slutty as Mikey, and definitely not as pretty. 

None of them had earned a collar with him this early on, and the first one had never gotten one at all; Blondie had really fucked with Mikey when it came to that particular detail. 

It was true too that all his former boys had been ‘normal’ young men with normal lives at the side, but this wasn’t necessarily to Mikey’s disadvantage. 

Michael had to admit, one dark side of him – one very bad and dark side – had probably seized the opportunity to take a street boy in, because he more or less subconsciously had _hoped_ for a… less consensual arrangement. Some sick part of him might have hoped Mikey’s background would make him less likely to leave. Thinking his situation would make him more prone to accepting the laws of the streets, accepting he ‘owed’ his ‘master’ money. Hoping Mikey would be easier to convince to make this into a 24/7-deal, even if the boy lacked all previous experience in such a demanding lifestyle. 

Yeah, he knew it was monstrous and shitty, even for a shady character like him, to take advantage of a guy down on his luck, but it did mean that Mikey was really fucking wrong here. He had in fact no intentions of letting this one go, not any time soon anyway. 

He opened his mouth to tell Mikey this, but the boy forestalled him.

“No, _you_ don’t get it,” he wept, looking up with anger in his eyes. “I don’t have anything, I’m fucking nothing. I never finished school and I can’t go back now. I’ll never get a job. Who the fuck would hire _me_? I’m fucking homeless, you tire of me, and I’m back in the streets. I’ve nowhere to go, I don’t have a family; I don’t have anyone. I’d have no other choice than to sell my ass again; do you even know what a fucking hell that is? My old pimp will find me again, and he _beats_ me. And- and not like you do it, he fucking beats me bloody, and he starves me, and- and… 

“And the fucking most pathetic thing is that I like you… I _like_ you, and it doesn’t even fucking matter; because you’re never gonna feel a fucking thing for a fucking whore like me. Fuck! I’m so stupid.” Mikey’s face dropped back into his hands and he cried even harder.

Again, Michael was stunned silent. Mikey had _feelings_ for him? He would have never… Damn. He didn’t know what to say, but he sat down on the chair beside Mikey’s, and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly. “I’m not letting anything happen to you, boy,” he promised. “It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

\-----o0o-----

Mikey served him his dinner, as always seeing to his master’s needs first, before Michael allowed him to take a seat in front his own plate. He tasted the steak. Not bad. “This is good,” he said, smiling, reminding himself to give the boy a bit of praise when earned. “You’re improving.”

The boy seemed to perk up a bit. “Thank you, Master,” he said, but the proud smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

It had been nearly two weeks since Mikey’s breakdown and on the surface, things were as usual. They went about their everyday life, Mikey serving him as best he could, causing little trouble, obeying, keeping the apartment nice and tidy and giving of his body any time Michael so wished, seemingly with as much enthusiasm and horniness as ever.

Still, there was something in the boy’s demeanor… Mikey wasn’t happy, and Michael knew it. 

Normally, that would make him angry, thinking the boy spoiled and ungrateful. That’s what he’d thought of his first boy, who hadn’t been happy no matter how he’d tried. Mikey had no fucking reason to be ungrateful. He fed him and clothed him, put a roof over his head, treated him decently overall, didn’t punish him unfairly, and hadn’t hurt him once. 

However, Michael _wasn’t_ angry with Mikey, because he understood. The boy wasn’t spoiled or ungrateful, and it wasn’t their lifestyle, or his treatment of Mikey, that made the boy unhappy – it was the fear he was going to lose it all, at any moment now. 

Mikey wasn’t demanding or clingy, he was terrified.

His other boys had all had something to go back to when things hadn’t worked out between them, but Mikey would end up back in the streets and would probably die before he turned thirty. 

Michael sighed deeply taking another bite, noticing at the corner of his eye how Mikey was watching him nervously, increasingly hyperaware of any signs of displeasure in his master. This fear had probably been there all along, but the night at the club, and the encounter with that evil little bitch, Blondie, had made it come out in full force, and Mikey obviously couldn’t press it back again. 

He had done his best these last two weeks to abate this fear and assure Mikey. He’d been as kind and patient as he was able and he’d made sure to explain to the boy that he was, in fact, a very good sub, a natural, and hot as hell, too. It hadn’t helped. 

His boy was still unhappy. 

Michael sighed deeply again, which made Mikey eyeing the piece of meat on his fork with increasing worry instead of putting it in his mouth. “I said the food is fine, boy,” Michael snapped; annoyed with the boy constantly second-guessing his own work and trying to interpret every breath he was taking. “Stop staring at me, and eat!” he ordered.

Mikey shrunk on the chair, but obeyed, staring at his plate only now, instead of his master, cautiously putting the piece of steak in his mouth.

\-----o0o-----

In the coming days, Michael had difficulties concentrating on stuff, his mind more and more on Mikey. Damn that little shit, he had really managed to get under Michael’s skin. 

The thing was; he liked Mikey back. Yeah, he might as well admit to himself he was falling hard for the little slut, and he didn’t want him to be unhappy. The thing also was that trying to be nice to Mikey in the manner of the last weeks was annoying and tiring, because that’s not who he was. It only ended in Michael snapping at Mikey; the boy becoming even more miserable and in the end, it didn’t help anyway. Mikey could feel that his master was acting, and though the boy sure could use an encouraging word now and then, Michael’s assurances he was a good sub in the now, didn’t abate his fears for the future.

No, deep down, Michael knew what he needed to do; he needed to stop trying to fucking coddle Mikey, stop giving him half-assed assurances the boy probably couldn’t believe in anyway, and show real proof of _commitment_ instead. 

Mikey could take his occasionally bad mood, he could take his master being rough around the edges, he could take a harsh hand, strict discipline and a no-nonsense attitude – he couldn’t take the uncertainty. If Michael made him feel secure, he could be as damn harsh and grumpy as he wanted to, Mikey would still be happy. 

It was only… Committing scared the fuck out of Michael. Every time he’d tried before, after all, he had ended up alone. 

Coming home at nights, he sometimes fucked Mikey so hard it bordered on physically injuring him, but Mikey only raised his abused hole in the air and asked for more. Yeah, Mikey could take whatever he put him through, and still be sweet and submissive the next day, while being just enough cheeky now and then not to bore him, and… Fucking just look at that damn boy, he was prettier than most _women_ Michael had known. 

Besides, Mikey _had_ said he had feelings for him and he clearly wanted to stay.

Where would he ever find a sub like this again? Could he really afford losing this boy? What was he afraid of? He. Six feet tall, two hundred lbs of pure muscle, running several successful businesses, Head Dom and president of their biker gang – _He_ was scared of a little commitment? 

It was fucking _pathetic_.

\-----o0o-----

He must have looked very serious and solemn the way Mikey stared at him with big fearful eyes as Michael ordered him into the kitchen. Maybe he thought he’d done something really bad this time, or maybe he feared this was the moment he would be told he was no longer wanted here, and could take his ass back to the streets. Michael ignored that scared look, and gave him no further explanation. 

The boy would be doubly assured soon enough anyway. 

“Sit!” Michael ordered, and pointed to a kitchen chair.

Mikey obeyed without a word, following his every movement with a worried expression.

Michael took a seat at the other side of the table. He’d cleared it of everything but a large domed box in black velvet. He now pushed this box across the tabletop in Mikey’s direction. “Open it!” he said, feeling weirdly embarrassed and not so little nervous. He felt like he was proposing here, which, in a sense, he guessed he actually was. 

Mikey’s expression changed to surprise, but he obeyed this, too, slowly opening the box, staring at the contents with eyes that told of his complete astonishment.

Michael knew, of course, what was in the box. He’d spent weeks trying to find the right one, and had finally had one custom made. It had been expensive as fuck. 

Mikey took out the collar with shaking hands, turning it around in the overhanging light. “Wow…” he said.

Michael couldn’t help the smug grin. Wow, indeed. This collar was fucking something else, and entirely unlike the cheap leather collars he’d given some of his former boys. This one was finely crafted from relentless surgical steel with a hidden lock, had an engraved intricate pattern along the band, including both of their names, and a fucking one-carat _diamond_ set in the base of the large steel leash-ring in the front. 

_This_ collar showed commitment, and not only on Michael’s part. This collar was meant to be worn more or less permanently. Mikey would not get to control the key, and it would not be mistaken for a piece of jewelry by the vanilla population out there. Wearing this 24/7, in the open, was not for the weak subs. Mikey would have to make one hell of a commitment, too. 

“Is- is this what I think it is?” Mikey said, turning the collar in his hands, gasping.

“Yes,” Michael said.

“It’s… It’s a serious thing, right? I mean… It really means something, right?”

“It does. Maybe more than you can handle, boy.”

Mikey gulped.

“I lock this on you, slave, with very few exceptions, it won’t come off again, and it will definitely never come off just because you whine about it. I will control the key, and unless there is an emergency of some kind, your fiddly little hands will never touch it. You won’t even get to look at the key, get it? You will wear this collar 24/7, you will wear it no matter who stares at you, and no matter what anyone says, and you will wear it proudly. This collar does mean something, boy; it means a whole lot. It means you’re mine, and I would fucking _not_ give a collar like this to someone I plan to kick out next year. You’re in it for the long haul, boy. As soon as I put that on you, say goodbye to any other future than at my feet, get it?”

Mikey’s eyes turned ever wider and rounder.

“Of course,” Michael went on. “You always have a choice. You don’t have to accept this today, and even if you do, you can still come to me, at any time in the future, and tell me to remove it. Just say the word, and I will… As long as you understand that doing so is the same as saying goodbye. I won’t send you off with nothing, boy, I’ll give you something to help you along the way, for all the work you have done here if nothing else, but this, you and me, it will be over… for good. Do you understand this?”

Mikey nodded, unblinking eyes. “Yes, Master,” he squeaked. 

Michael wanted to grin at the boy’s expression, but he forced himself to remain serious and solemn. “This collar doesn’t only mean your total obedience and submission, boy. It also symbolizes my responsibility. As long as you wear it, no matter what mood I’m in, and no matter if I feel like telling you so in words, or not, never doubt that giving you this collar _is_ a commitment to always take care of you, _and_ a proof of your value to me.”

Mikey looked like he was going to start to cry and opened his mouth to say something, but Michael raised his hand. “Don’t speak, boy! It’s not an easy decision to make, I know, and I’ll give you some space to think this over. I’ll go out in the living room, and when you have decided, you come and tell me! Take all the time you need.”

\-----o0o-----

Big Mikey departed the kitchen and left him to stare at the amazing collar. Mikey was about to tear his eyes away from it, get up and run after his master right away, assuring him there was nothing to think about, but something made him stay in the chair. 

Young Mikey popped up after months of silence. His child self – normal, innocent, precocious and naïve in equal measures – produced a sudden high-pitched yell of ‘are you _crazy_?’ in his head. His inner pre-street self, who had still had a family – such as it was – and relative normalcy of life was shocked. _Shocked_. How could he even consider letting himself be collared like an animal, voluntarily walking straight into what was no less than slavery, was he mad? 

Well, Whore Mikey tried excusing himself to Young Mikey; it wasn’t as if he was being held against his will, or anything. Big Mikey had said he could change his mind anytime he wanted to, and he would even get some money if he decided to leave. There were no risks, and Big Mikey had treated him nicely, so far.

Young Mikey was still yelling inside his head, telling him it was pathetic that a street kid like him would be so freaking gullible – ‘freaking’ was Young Mikey’s worst swearword – to believe in all that. How could he think ‘Big Mikey’ was nice? He was a manipulative shady bastard. How could he believe a man that wanted to be called ‘Master’ would ever let him go if he wanted to? Run, Young Mikey yelled. Run while you still can.

Mikey shook his head, yelling back inside his head for Young Mikey to shut the fuck up already. 

Young Mikey was, like, fucking _twelve_. He had no fucking idea about anything. How could Young Mikey ever know what kind of hell he had escaped in the streets, and how his life here was the most normal someone like him could ever hope for? How could a kid like he had once been ever understand the desire in him to submit, and how fucking horny it made him only to think about their ‘games’? How much he needed to be treated like this, or how safe it made him feel that Big Mikey wanted to make a commitment. How could Young Mikey ever appreciate how fucking hot Big Mikey was, and how lucky he was a man like that wanted a skinny little girlie slut like him. How could his inner kid understand how sometimes you just had to risk things?

Above all, twelve year old Mikey did fucking not know what love was, and he fucking _loved_ Big Mikey.

Young Mikey’s voice silenced in his head, and Mikey looked at the collar again, fascinated with how the sparkly gem caught the light – was that a real diamond? – a wide smile breaking out on his face. Fuck, under all that leather, bulging muscles and skull tattoos, Big Mikey was just a huge romantic softie, wasn’t he? Big Mikey, that rough, tough son of a bitch of a biker, had as good as _proposed_ to him.

Big Mikey _loved_ him back.

For that, Mikey would gladly live in abject slavery and submission for the rest of his life. ‘It’s not an easy decision to make’, his master had said, but that was ridiculous, it was the easiest fucking decision he’d ever made. 

Mikey got up from the chair, put the collar back in the box and grabbed the whole thing on the go, hurrying out into living room.

\-----o0o-----

It took less than five minutes before Mikey showed up in the doorway to the living room with his head bowed over the black velvet box he carried.

Michael’s stomach flipped over, fearing that needing only a few minutes to decide on such a serious matter could only mean one thing, Mikey wanted to leave. He hadn’t gone into this whole thing voluntarily in the first place, after all, and Michael had probably completely misjudged the situation when thinking that making things so serious and final would make the boy feel safe and secure. He’d probably scared the shit out of him instead, and made him realize just how fucked up this whole thing really was. Most likely, Mikey would take whatever money Michael was willing to give him and would get the hell out of here as soon as he could. 

The thought made Michael’s heart constrict.

Mikey stepped into the room and slowly knelt down in front of him, opening the box, bowing deeply and holding the collar up to him. “Please put it on me, Master,” he asked with a shaky voice.

I’ll be damned. Michael thought, feeling his heart making a weird flip this time, instead of his stomach, as well as his cock hardening. He got up from the couch and took the collar. “You needed only five minutes to decide on this, boy?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” Mikey said, sounding surprisingly sure of voice now.

Well, Michael thought, maybe it really wasn’t that hard to decide on, after all, maybe it was just this simple, really, that this was what they both wanted and needed, and that they both knew it. Maybe you actually didn’t need more than a few minutes to realize that.

“Get up!” Michael ordered.

Mikey obeyed. He stood before his master, and slowly gathered all his hair on top of his head, baring his neck for him, closing his eyes and parting his pretty lips in anticipation of the collar. 

Michael locked it around his neck, putting the key in his pants pocket and hooked a finger in the ring, tugging Mikey closer. “It suits you, boy. Now, what do you say, slave?”

Mikey looked up at him, and there it was, in his eyes, happiness, and a tiny little bit of cheekiness, too. “I do?” he said.

Michael laughed, grabbing Mikey’s jaw in a strong and strict hand, tilting his head back and leaning in. 

He supposed he should ‘kiss the bride’.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the last two chapters in this little fic then. They’re a sort of epilogue, I guess you can say, and take place about two years later.
> 
> Hope you have been entertained.
> 
> /Fran

There was something familiar about him, Mikey thought as he walked past the boy hanging out just inside the entry of the convenience store. 

No, it wasn’t that he knew the guy, Mikey was sure he had never seen him before, but there was still something… The much too thin clothes in this cold, the way his ass showed in the ridiculously tight jeans, the clumsily put on eyeliner…

A man in a white shirt with a nametag on the chest came storming down the aisle in such haste he nearly knocked him over, and Mikey hurried to step aside, turning around to see what was going on.

“Hey, you little shit, get out of my store!” nametag-guy yelled. 

The boy scowled at the angry shopkeeper. “Chill out, man. I haven’t shoplifted anything. What? You wanna strip search me?” He held his skinny arms out. “I dare you, cup a feel; you won’t find a fucking thing.” 

“My shop entry is not a damn warming house. Get out! You scare my customers off.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Okay, man, I’m going, okay? I’m going.” He turned and slipped out of the store. 

“… and the next time, I’ll call the police on you, you hear me?” the shopkeeper shouted after him. 

Mikey frowned at the scene. It was familiar, all right. How many times had similar upstanding members of society chased _him_ away when he himself had lived in the streets? He was of a good mind to tell the shopkeeper what a fucking bastard he was and take his – well, Big Mikey’s – money somewhere else. However, there was a long way to any other store that sold the brand of beer Big Mikey preferred and it was too near closing time in any case. Big Mikey would be cranky as hell if he didn’t get his favorite beer tonight. 

Walking back home with the bag of beer, Mikey spotted the same boy once again, this time leaning against a lamppost a bit farther down the street from the convenience store. Oh, this _was_ familiar, in the way that he pushed his hips out and grinned at the cars passing by, trying to look sexy and pleasing, even though he was obviously freezing his skinny ass off and was probably real fucking miserable.

“You know,” Mikey said, halting at the other side of the lamppost. “You’re not gonna get any customers here. There’s too much light, and it’s way too close to the store. You think anyone would stop and pick up a whore when a neighbor could walk by at any moment on the way to get a frozen pizza or something and spot them. You have to keep to the right streets, man!”

The boy turned to him with fury in his eyes. “Who the fuck are you calling a whore, you- you fucking idiot. I wasn’t… I’m not… I’m… I’m just waiting on a friend, and- and… Fucking get lost, you creep, or I’ll kick you in the fucking balls.”

Mikey only smiled, he wasn’t offended at the hostility. He knew how tough you had to be out there, and if you weren’t, well, you just had to pretend that you were. This guy… he wasn’t. It would be all bark and no bite with this one, he was sure. Mikey shrugged. “Okay, just thought you might want some friendly advice, is all.” He turned away and continued down the street. 

It wasn’t long before he heard the light sound of worn-out sneakers, hurrying to catch up with him. 

“So…” the boy started, hunching his shoulders against the cold as he followed him down the street. “How do you know that then, about where to stand, and all that?” he finally asked

“Let’s just say I have some experience in the trade,” Mikey answered, grinning at the boy.

The boy sped up to get ahead, turning around and walking backwards in front of him, forcing Mikey to slow down while he looked him up and down with a condescending grin. “Yeah, right. That’s real believable, man, especially with all that fancy stuff you’re wearing, and all. You gotta have a real special ass to pay for a coat like that.”

Mikey grinned widely. “My ass is _so_ damn special I got picked off the streets, permanently. Got myself a long term Sugar Daddy. I’m not working the streets anymore.”

The boy’s eyes turned big and round. “Really? Seriously?” However, the astonished look changed into an angry scowl soon enough. “Yeah, just make fun of the trashy kid, why don’t you? How stupid do you think I am? Fucking rich _asshole_. Fuck off!”

He didn’t wait for Mikey to ‘fuck off’ but turned on his heels himself and ran into a dark alley, disappearing out of sight. 

Mikey just stood there for a moment, a bit taken aback. He wasn’t surprised the boy hadn’t believed him, but he was still somewhat shocked that someone had called him a ‘rich asshole’. He looked down on himself. Did he really look _that_ well off and ‘normal’ these days? His thick winter coat was expensive, that was true – Big Mikey would never let him go cold – and he supposed, with his long hair tucked up under his luxuriously cozy and warm knitted cap and a scarf hiding his collar… Yeah, he supposed he did look normal and well off enough for a younger version of his earlier street self – who was obviously new to the harsh reality out here – not to trust a thing he was saying. 

He sighed a little sadly. Well, it wasn’t something he could do anything about, he supposed, and Big Mikey was waiting for his beer.

Mikey walked home.

\-----o0o-----

Only a few days later, on his way to the convenience store to pick up some groceries, Mikey saw him again. 

The same boy, leaning against the same lamppost. 

Mikey shook his head, sneaking up beside the boy on the other side of the lamppost. “I’d have thought you’d at least see the logic in my advice and find another street, man,” he said. 

The boy’s head whipped around, his eyes glaring when he recognized him. “Fuck off, rich boy!” he said. 

“Oh my God!” Mikey said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What a fucking little idiot you are. I’m not rich; I don’t have anything. This, all I’m wearing; it belongs to _him_. I told you, I’m just an ex-street whore, but you will never become one on this street, and you sure as hell look like you could use the money. When did you eat last? Got some sleep…? You don’t look so good, man.”

“What the fuck is it to you,” the boy spat. “Why do you fucking care if I’m hungry or freezing my ass off?”

“Because I know what it’s fucking like to be hungry and cold, okay. I know what it’s like to be all alone and have nothing and to get so fucking desperate you finally decide there’s nothing to it, you have to start selling your ass, or you’ll starve. So, you go out there, but you’re so fucking scared of that first customer, of what he might do to you. Maybe he’ll stiff you and you’re just gonna end up raped and bleeding through your pants and still don’t have a fucking penny to buy food. Maybe he’ll just drag you into a dark alley and slit your throat, because you’ve heard of that one girl that that happened to, and… You know you still have to do it, but you’re so fucking scared, you go stand on a street outside a fucking convenience store, where you fucking well _know_ you will never, ever get a damn john to pick you up.”

The boy stared at him, then his gaze dropped to the pavement and he hugged himself, trying to pull his thin, worn hoodie closer around his shivering body. “I… I’m really hungry,” he murmured. “I’m really fucking hungry, and- and tired, and…” 

He choked around his words now, and gulped and swallowed under his hanging hair, obviously trying his best not to start crying. 

“You could come back home with me,” Mikey suggested, “for the night, at least. I mean, if you want to. There’s plenty of food, and you could crash on the couch, get a good night’s sleep, warm up, use the shower…”

The boy gave up a short snorting laugh. “Yeah? What would your ‘Sugar Daddy’ say about that, hah?”

“I’m… not sure, actually, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because he went on a short business trip yesterday, and he won’t be returning until tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have plenty of time.”

The boy looked up at him with an expression that was both hopeful and suspicious. “You’re sure you don’t just want a blowjob from me, or to fuck my ass or something?”

Mikey grinned. “No, it’s not like that at all, I swear.”

The boy finally grinned back. “Too bad, you’re kinda hot.” 

Mikey laughed. “I’m Mikey,” he said, pulling his glove off and offering his hand. 

After a few seconds of hesitation, the boy took his hand and shook it. “Ash,” he said with a shy smile.

\-----o0o-----

Ash made big eyes already in the large hallway, kicking off his threadbare sneakers while looking about him. “Wow, ‘Sugar Daddy’ is loaded, eh?”

Mikey shrugged his shoulders while hanging up his coat, deliberately keeping his scarf in place for the time being. “Let’s just say that he gets by.” He smiled.

“You’re not afraid I’ll knick something valuable and scram as soon as you look the other way?” Ash said, giving Mikey a cheeky grin.

Mikey’s friendly smile didn’t falter for a second. “You’d be utterly stupid to. My man… He’s _very_ well connected, if you know what I mean. Believe me, he’d find you.”

Ash stopped grinning and his eyes widened. “Yikes,” he said. “Uuuh, I was just joking, you know.”

“I know,” Mikey said, walking into the apartment, the boy following close on his heels. “The kitchen’s through there. Go have a seat and I’ll be with you in a second.”

The boy did as suggested and Mikey slipped into his bathroom where he could rid himself of his scarf and cap, letting his hair out, preparing to show what he really was, locked collar and all. 

Big Mikey had once told him – when presenting the collar to him – that he was required to wear this symbol of ownership with pride everywhere, at all times, and no matter who saw it, but in reality, his chosen Master usually wasn’t _that_ strict about it.

Wearing a thing like this in everyday life, in public, wasn’t always practically feasible, and it wasn’t only a question about if Mikey would be embarrassed about it, or not – which he wasn’t. It was also a question of not pulling other people into their lifestyle without their consent, and making _them_ uncomfortable. Outside of their home, Mikey wore the collar openly as often as he could, while when he felt he didn’t want to make a shop clerk uncomfortable, or didn’t want to explain things to idiots who would never understand anyway, or might even beat him up, he hid the collar with a scarf. When it came to things like an appointment with a doctor or a dentist, Big Mikey usually took it off completely until they got back home again. 

Big Mikey was neither impossible nor unreasonable about it, really, and since Mikey had proven he _was_ genuinely proud to wear the collar, his Master had eventually given him the responsibility to decide for himself how and when to wear it, though he’d kept control over the key. To this day, Mikey had never once touched that key. 

It wasn’t as if he’d never had the opportunity to. When Big Mikey went away for a few days without him, for example, as he’d done just yesterday, he always left the key at home. It was a safety issue, of course. In case there was some kind of medical emergency, Mikey would need the key to open the collar if that was necessary to save himself, but that didn’t mean he had a right to touch it outside of such an emergency. 

Mikey would never betray his Master’s trust. He didn’t touch the key. 

In their home, though, there had never been a question or discussion about the collar. At home, he _would_ wear it, and that was that. Mikey fingered the large ring riveted to the front of the collar and watched his reflection in the mirror with a small frown. This was the first time the thought of wearing the collar at home wasn’t an entirely uncomplicated and pleasurable one. It wasn’t that he felt any kind of shame at the thought of his new friend out there in the kitchen seeing it, but he didn’t want to scare him. 

Well, he supposed he just had to take the risk and hope the boy was tough enough to handle it. Mikey shook his hair back and raised his chin, turning to the door. “Here goes nothing”, he murmured to himself, reaching for the door handle.

\-----o0o-----

Ash stared at him, all right, when he stepped into the kitchen, but it seemed it wasn’t the collar that made him gawk.

“Are you for real, man?” he said. “Where did you hide all that hair before? How fucking cool is that? Can I touch it?” 

Mikey sat down close to Ash and leaned his head toward him, letting the hair fall to the side with a grin. “Sure,” he said.

Ash put a hand to his head and ran his fingers through it. “Wow, this is really nice. Are you a metal head or something?”

Mikey laughed. “Not really, I just kinda like it, and my man does, too.”

Ash’s fascination with his long tresses continued unabated. “How long did it take to get it this freaky long?” he asked, running his thin fingers all the way from the top to the bottom and then starting over from the top again. 

“About ten or twelve years, or so,” Mikey answered. 

“Yeah? Cool! It’s like… like fucking silk, or something. You do a lot of girly stuff to it, or what?”

Mikey laughed. Ash was a funny guy; he liked him already. “If that’s what you wanna call it. Yes, I do ‘girly stuff’ to it. You have to take care of it, you know. It takes some products and shit, and quite a lot of time. It’s worth it though.”

“I bet,” Ash grinned. “Sugar Daddy gets a chubby in his pants only looking at this, eh?”

Mikey laughed again. That was as correct a description of the true state of things as he’d ever heard. Big Mikey really liked his hair. Mikey liked to take advantage of this fact whenever he was “the maid”, cleaning the apartment in only his birthday suit. He would stretch his back when Big Mikey happened to pass by behind him, letting his hair strategically and ‘innocently’ brush over his bare ass... It never failed to wake up his Master’s pants monster, and was usually an excellent way to get out of the boring cleaning and into some… funnier activities. 

However, he didn’t think this was something he should describe to Ash.

“So, did you want some food then?” he asked, changing the subject and pulling his hair out of Ash’s hands. 

Ash looked embarrassed. “…if it’s not too much trouble, and… only if you have some leftovers or something… I wouldn’t want to impose, really, and… Yeah, thanks, I’d…”

Mikey got up from his chair, and patted Ash’s shoulder with a smile. “Don’t worry about it, we have plenty. Some sandwiches all right, to start with?”

\-----o0o-----

In the end, Mikey warmed up a tin of Minestrone soup for the boy, as he was still so cold; and made some cheese and ham sandwiches for him, too, at the side, as well as giving him a big glass of milk to rinse it all down.

Ash’s table manners left a little something to desire, there would be crumbs on the floor to clean up later, but Mikey wasn’t blaming him. It was clear the boy was starving, and he was positively shaking in his eagerness to stuff himself as full as he could in as short a time as it was humanly possible. 

Mikey watched from his chair, nibbling on a sandwich he’d made for himself as well, while he was at it anyway. 

By the looks of him, Ash didn’t seem to have gotten a decent meal in ages, looking smaller and skinnier than even Mikey had been in his worst years. Other than that, and disregarding how dirty and scrappy he also looked, the kid was not bad looking. Ash wasn’t pretty in the same androgynous way Mikey was – a fact about himself Mikey simply acknowledged without being either particularly ashamed or proud about it – but had the sort of charmingly boyish face that many older johns would go nuts for. There were dimples, a spattering of freckles across a somewhat broad nose, big blue eyes, widely set under a shock of tousled sandy hair and ruddy cheeks, youthfully smooth.

Mikey frowned. Yeah, the bastards out there would like that, wouldn’t they, the fucking disgusting old creeps. He was glad he’d gotten to the boy before they had.

After a while, Ash seemed to have stilled the worst hunger. He was still eating, but he’d slowed down considerably, which apparently had given him a chance to study Mikey a bit closer in his turn. 

Again, Ash’s eyes widened. “That thing…” he started, seemingly looking for the right words while pretending he had to chew and swallow his next bite extra thoroughly. “Uh, I mean, that thing you’re wearing… I mean, around your neck… I’ve seen the Punks and the Goths, and all those losers, wearing, like, studded dog colors and shit like that, but… that... That’s something else, right?”

Oh, he’d noticed the collar, at long last. Mikey grinned a little crookedly in his nervousness. “Uh, yeah, it’s… something else.”

Ash’s eyes seemed perpetually widened now. “He… Your ‘Sugar Daddy’, he’s some kind of… perv?” he asked carefully.

Mikey gave up a likewise nervous laugh. “In a way… It’s… hard to explain.”

“It’s sort of a game?” Ash asked. “Like… role play? Right?”

“Um, no not really,” Mikey tried. He realized how unused he was to put into actual words what he and Big Mikey had. At the club, together with the other Masters and their boys, there was no need for explanation, and he rarely hung out with other people these days. 

Impossibly, Ash’s eyes widened even more. “He… He’s like, _forcing_ you to do that? Man, you should call the cops, or something!”

Mikey gaped. That’s not what he’d meant by denying it was a game. “No!” he hurried to say. “No, he’s not forcing me. It’s not like that at all. I want this, and I can leave any time, but it’s more serious than a ‘game’, you know. It’s an understanding between us, but we’re not playing. I mean, we do this all the time, it’s not roles we step out of, but of course he isn’t forcing me.”

Ash had put his last sandwich down and frowned at him, looking like he really tried to understand. “So… you like this? It… turns you on?”

Mikey grinned. “Yes, and yes.”

Ash kept staring at him. “So, you’re, like, horny right now, or what?”

Mikey laughed. “For fuck’s sake… No! You keep up this lifestyle 24/7, you can’t walk around with a constant hard on, you know.” 

At the moment, Mikey chose to keep the fact to himself that he wasn’t actually _able_ to get a hard on even if his body should feel so inclined, since Big Mikey never left town without looking him into the cock cage. It wasn’t that his Master didn’t trust him not to cheat on him while he was gone, but the fucking sadist just loved the thought of his boy squirming in sexual frustration with no means of release until it pleased him to come back. Mikey was sure it gave his Master plenty of masturbation inspiration in his hotel room at night – the _bastard_.

“So, you can just take that thing off and walk out of here then?” Ash asked further.

Mikey leaned over the table and stroke his hair out of the way, showing Ash the back of his collar. “Not really,” he admitted. “It’s locked, and I’m not allowed to touch the key.” He sat up straight again, meeting another frown from the boy at the other side of the kitchen table.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t get this, man,” he said. “He’s not forcing you… But that thing is _locked_ , and you’re not ‘allowed’ to do stuff…How isn’t it force, if he does that to you?”

Mikey frowned, too, how to explain this? “It’s like this,” he started. “I’ve sort of given him permission to decide things, to do what he wants with me, to order me around, punish me, tell me what to do, and not to do, to give me rules to follow and chores to do, and tell me how to talk to him, what to call him… Everything. You get it? He gets to do all that, but only as long as I say he can. I’ve given him all the power, all of me, and in return, he takes care of me, and protects me, but, it’s me _giving_ it to him. I can take it back, but… I don’t want to.”

Ash seemed perpetually astonished now. “And you _trust_ him with this?”

Mikey nodded. “I do. Well… it’s been a process, but we’ve learned to trust _each other_ , and… Yeah, I trust him.” Mikey gave the boy another nervous smile. “I know I sound kinda fucked up in the head, but…”

Ash shrugged and picked up his half-eaten sandwich again. “Whatever floats your boat, man,” he said. “Sounds kinda weird to me, but… So, he’s not really a ‘Sugar Daddy’…?”

“He’s my Master,” Mikey clarified. “I’m his slave, and I’m damn proud to be.”

Ash gave up a giggle around his next bite. “Maaan, that’s some _kinky_ shit.”

Mikey laughed. “You have no idea, and I can’t tell you until you grow up.” He winked at the boy.

Ash laughed too. “Oh, fuck you, man; I’m not a fucking kid.”


	6. Chapter 6

Michael was mightily pleased with himself, sticking his key into the street door to his apartment building. His business trip had been a roaring success. It had been so successful, in fact, that he’d been able to leave a day early. Of course, he could have stayed anyway, to fraternize a bit longer with his business associates, networking and all that shit, but… he wanted to go home to his boy.

Normally, he would call Mikey to let him know he would be early, to give the boy a chance to greet his Master properly, cook for him, and dress in something nice, but this time he wanted to surprise Mikey.

Mikey had seemed a bit low at being left alone this time, and had been especially grumpy about the cock cage. Okay, the little guy was never happy about the cock cage, but he’d sighed deeper than usual this time, claiming he was in a ‘horny period’ and that it would be hell wearing it for three whole days. Well, he would sure brighten up then, to see his Master again in only two days, and have the cock cage removed already tonight. 

Michael grinned to himself as he snuck up the stairs, and as silently as he was able stuck the key in his front door, slipping inside not to make a single noise to alert Mikey, grinning like an idiot...

Until he spotted a pair of worn, and very dirty, gray sneakers with holes in the front that he knew without a shadow of a doubt did not belong to Mikey. What the fuck? Then he heard it, mumbles and muffled laughter coming from inside the apartment. Mikey’s voice, saying something he couldn’t catch, and then a male voice answering him. A male… voice…? 

Some unknown guy was in _his_ apartment, with _his_ boy? 

Michael inhaled through his nose like a bull ready to charge, dropped his duffel bag, stampeded through the apartment, much like the aforementioned bull, and crashed through the living room door. 

Two pair of very shocked eyes stared at him from the couch. 

“What… the… _fuck_!” Michael roared. 

There _was_ an unknown guy in his apartment, with Mikey, a guy with damp sandy hair, looking like he’d just taken a shower, and he was wearing Mikey’s clothes, and sat snuggled up with _Mikey_ , on _his_ couch, and…

Michael saw red. With yet another furious roar, he stepped up to the two, now almost catatonic looking, little bastards on the couch, grabbed the unknown one by the scruff of his neck, and pulled him out of the couch. 

It didn’t take long before the guy dangling in his grip started to scream and yell in obvious fear and furiously struggled to get away from him. Michael would have none of that, and the guy was even smaller than Mikey, so it wasn’t as if he had a chance in hell anyway. 

Michael pulled the guy through the front door, hauled him down the stairs, kicked the street door open with his foot and literally threw the little shit outside. “Get out!” he roared. 

The guy landed hard on his ass on the pavement outside, but quickly scrambled to his feet, shaking all over, looking confused, shocked and terrified all at the same time. “My- My sh-shoes… My- my hoodie…” he stammered.

“Get _out_!” Michael repeated. “Fuck off, before I fucking break every bone in your body. You hear that? You ever go near Mikey again, I’ll fucking _bury_ you.”

He didn’t need to repeat himself further. The guy turned and ran off on bare feet, down a frosty street, dressed only in one of Mikey’s tiny T-shirts and loose-fitting sweatpants. 

Still angry as fuck, Michael stomped back up the stairs with every intention of giving Mikey an earful about his cheating and treasonous ways, which he was really fucking _hurt_ about, but he stopped dead in his track inside his front door, temporarily held back at the sight before him. 

Mikey was standing in the hallway, and he didn’t look guilty, remorseful or prepared to beg for forgiveness at all. Quite the other way around, in fact. Mikey’s mouth formed a very unhappy and tight line as he stared his Master down with hands fisted at his sides, and the look in his eyes was an undeniable match to his own fury.

“You fucking _bastard_!” Mikey yelled. 

“What the fuck!” Michael yelled back. “I can’t even go away for two fucking days before you cheat on me, and you’re yelling at _me_?”

Mikey gave him a highly indignant gasp. “ _What_? You… What the… I- I wasn’t cheating on you, you _idiot_. Can’t you see he’s a just a kid? A _homeless_ kid that you just threw out in the middle of winter without fucking _shoes_ on. I was just trying to help him. He hadn’t eaten in days, he was about to sell his ass in the streets, he… I just gave him some fucking food and let him use the shower.”

“What the fuck,” Michael yelled back. “I go away for _two_ fucking days and you start up a damn homeless shelter?”

That, apparently, proved too much for Mikey. He gave up a frustrated scream in anger, waved his arms in the air, turned on his heels and stormed back into the apartment, disappearing into his room and slammed the door shut with a bang that shook the whole apartment building. 

Michael was of a good mind to stomp after him and give Mikey the spanking of his life for his atrocious behavior, but something stopped him.

This something, Michael realized soon enough, was his bad conscience. His very bad conscience. 

He paced the hallway, thinking about it. Okay, the guy on the couch had looked very young, hadn’t he? Like, sixteen, at the most. If Mikey wanted to cheat on him, surely he wouldn’t pick up a damn teen to fuck him in the ass. Mikey liked real men, like himself, not kids. If that really was a homeless kid, dirty and scruffy from living in the streets, then Michael supposed it explained why Mikey had offered him a shower, too, apart from a meal. If they’d showered after having sex, then Mikey would have had damp hair, too, wouldn’t he? 

Oh, damn, he _was_ an idiot. Mikey had run into some street kid down on his luck and had recognized his earlier self in the boy’s plight, and, soft hearted as he was, he’d wanted to help. Was that really such a bad thing? Of course not. He should be proud of his boy for trying to make a difference in this shitty world, not accusing him of cheating and flying into a rage before even trying to find out what was going on. 

Fuck, he’d really screwed up this time, hadn’t he? 

Swallowing his pride, Michael walked up to Mikey’s door, and knocked on it. There was no answer. “Uh…” Michael said through the door, thinking it best for the moment not to actually open it. “I think I might have kinda fucked up a little bit here…,” he admitted. “I… I’ll fix this, Mikey, okay? You hear that, Sweetie? I’ll fix it; I swear I will. I’ll just… I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll fix this, don’t worry.”

Michael resolutely turned for the hallway again and hurried outside. That kid couldn’t have gone far. Michael speed-walked down the street where he’d last seen the boy, and sure enough, he soon spotted a tiny shivering form limping down the street, stopping at every two or three steps to try to warm his bare feet. He felt another sting to his bad conscience. It really was a fucking dick move to throw a kid out in the middle of winter so thinly dressed. 

“Hey,” he shouted. “Wait up, boy! I just wanna talk to…”

The boy froze in the middle of a step, turned his head, gave up a terrified gasp at the sight of him, and ran off as if the devil was on his heels. 

Michael swore; he should have seen that coming. Well, the kid was barefooted, already frozen half to death and probably exhausted, while he was well-rested, very fit, and wearing a pair of sturdy Doc Martens. It didn’t take him many seconds to catch up with the kid and grab him by the arm. 

In his, admittedly impromptu and not very well thought out, plan to retrieve the kid, Michael had meant to explain to him that he’d misunderstood the whole thing, that he was in fact not angry, after all, and ask him to come back to the apartment so they could talk about it. 

However, it proved nigh near impossible to get these intentions across to the kid, as he was clearly absolutely terrified of him, screaming bloody murder in his grip, and overall acted way too hysterical to reason with. 

Well, the kid _was_ coming back with him, whether he wanted to or not, because there was only one thing on Michael’s mind right now, and that was to fix things with Mikey. Nothing else mattered, and so there was nothing to it, really. With one forceful swoop, Michael hauled the kid off his feet and threw him over his shoulder, ignoring his yells and kicks, hurrying back inside before someone would call the police on him. 

In the meantime it seemed Mikey had decided to come out of his room and was waiting in the hallway again. However, he looked only shocked now when Michael stepped inside with the boy over his shoulder. 

“Got him back for you,” Michael said, letting the boy down.

The street kid scrambled away from him and hid behind Mikey, shaking like a leaf, but for the moment, it seemed he was stunned silent. Thank goodness for that, the kid’s yells could have raised the dead. Having him over his shoulder, Michael had probably gone deaf on that side now. 

“A- are you insane?” Mikey gasped, holding the boy behind him. “You can’t just fucking kidnap people off the street… again.”

Kidnap people off the…? What the fuck, that wasn’t what he’d done. Michael had had quite enough of this whole mess now. “Silence!” he roared. “Go out to the kitchen and sit down, both of you! Right… fucking… _now_!”

Two pair of wide eyes stared at him in shock, and then they spun around, nearly tripping over each other in the process, and scrambled out into the kitchen without making a single peep in protest. 

Yeah, Mikey knew when it was time to obey, all right, and the other kid was probably close to pissing himself in fear in any case. Michael gathered himself with a few deep breaths and followed them to the kitchen. 

Both boys had already taken a seat when he came inside, Mikey still looking very displeased with him, but now being properly subdued, and the other kid looking no less terrified than before. Michael really hoped the kid wouldn’t pee all over his new kitchen chairs; they had been expensive. 

“All right,” he started with another deep breath. “Mikey, I’m sorry, I fucked up. So, just let me fix this, okay?” 

He didn’t give Mikey a chance to reply, but turned to the other boy instead. “Look, boy, I kind of misunderstood the situation, you understand? I thought you’d come here to fuck my boyfriend, and… I mean, fucking look at him, can you blame me for going nuts at the mere thought? I didn’t get that he was just trying to help you, and… Well, I don’t know who you are, boy, but if Mikey wants to help you, we are fucking going to help you, is that clear?” 

“Smooth, Master,” Mikey murmured.

“Shut up, Mikey!” Michael growled. 

He turned back to the other boy. “What’s your name, boy?”

“A-a-ash,” the boy managed. 

“Full name, first and last,” Michael demanded. 

“A-ashley… Ashley Miller.”

“Okay, you’d better not lie to me boy, I _will_ check that out. Age?”

“T-t-twenty one…”

“Real age, boy,” Michael warned, slapping his hand hard into the tabletop in front the boy.

Ash jumped on the chair. “Eighteen! I’m eighteen, I sweeear.”

“Good! Eighteen, we can work with that. Are you doing drugs, Ashley? And don’t even think of lying to me.”

“No, I don’t, I swear, I don’t… I- I mean, sure, I’ve had a few joints, but- but… I’ve never touched anything heavier, I swear.”

“Good! Venereal diseases?” 

“Master, for goodness sake…” Mikey piped up with a pained voice. 

Michael wasn’t about to let him butt in. “Zip it, Mikey! I won’t tell you again. Well?” he turned back to Ashley with a demanding stare.

Ashley turned beet red. “Uuuh, I- I don’t… How the fuck should I know? I can’t afford to… Uh… I- I don’t know…”

“Okay, okay, we’ll help you with that, too…” Michael finally pulled out a kitchen chair of his own and sat down, trying to adopt a friendlier tone. “Look, boy, I only dragged you back in here because I wanted to make things right, but of course I wasn’t actually kidnapping you. You wanna leave right now, I’m sure not going to stop you. I’ll even let Mikey pack you a bag with some stuff. We’ll give you some clothes, some food and some money, and you can survive on that for a while, but it won’t solve your situation in the end, won’t it? So, if you _don’t_ go out that door tonight, maybe we could think of something that will help you a bit more long term. What do you say?”

Ash stared at him with a gaping mouth. “A-are you for real? Five minutes ago, you wanted to ‘bury’ me, and now you say you want to give me some kind of future? Tha- that’s not very believable, you know. Uh… no offence.”

Michael turned his head and looked at Mikey, lifting a hand to cup his boy’s chin and rub his thumb over his sweet lips. “See this longhaired little bitch, boy? Is he the hottest thing you have ever seen in your life, or what? I think so. In fact, I care about him a whole lot, and there is precious little I wouldn’t do to make him happy. Seeing as I royally fucked up tonight and probably hurt him real bad, I don’t think he will be even close to forgive me with less than that I do my best to, yes, give you some kind of future. However, it’s not only up to me, boy. You have to want to take that chance, and you have to be honest with us and cooperate with us on this, okay? You have to choose to trust us, or walk out that door. Understand?” 

“That’s… kind of a tough choice to make, just like that, no time to think, and all.” Ash pointed out, staring at them both.

“Well,” Michael said, “it’s the only fucking choice you have, so… What will it be?”

Ash kept staring, his hands, resting on the tabletop, trembled, but then he slowly nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I- I’ll stay.”

“Good!” Michael said, standing up, the new boy scrambling back in the chair with fear in his eyes at his sudden move, which showed with ample clarity that he was far from trusting him. Michael ignored it. “Now that that’s out of the way… I’ve had a long flight, so can I finally get some fucking peace and quiet here? Okay? Good! Mikey, I’m gonna go take a shower, unpack my stuff and get started on my dinner!”

Mikey gave him a proper ‘yes Master’ at that, and Michael deemed it a good time to leave the boys to their own devices for the time being. 

“Damn little shits,” he murmured to himself on the way over to his bathroom. The next time Mikey got these urges to help; he’d take him to an animal shelter and have him pick out a dog or cat, or something, instead, or a turtle… a parrot… anything but another fucking street whore.

\-----o0o-----

For more than a few moments, Ash and Mikey kept staring at each other only, Mikey with an apologetic expression, and Ash with a look on his face as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Didn’t you say he wasn’t gonna come home until tomorrow?” Ash finally asked him in an accusing tone.

“Um… Sorry,” Mikey said. “Apparently, he’s early… might have wanted to surprise me… He usually calls, and...”

“Maaan,” Ash interrupted. “When you said ‘Sugar Daddy’, I kinda pictured this older guy, you know, a loaded businessman in his 60s or something, and… Okay, yeah, a kinky businessman, but still this older guy, in a fancy suit and shit. You could have kinda warned me he was the _fucking Hells Angels_.”

Mikey cringed on his chair, feeling quite bad about the whole thing now. “He’s not technically the Hells Angels, though I suppose…”

Ash moaned. “Please tell me we’re not in actual danger here?”

“We’re not, I swear,” Mikey hurried to assure him. “Look, I know he’s a bit… scary, and he’s kinda grumpy at times, but he’s a nice guy, really, deep down.”

“Yeah? You could have fooled me, man.”

“Sorry,” Mikey tried again. “I’m serious, though. I’ve been with him for three years now, and he’s literally never hurt me once. Not _once_!” He gave up a crooked grin. “Okay, he spanks me, but… that kinda hurts in juuust the right way, if you know what I mean.”

Ash threw his hands up in exasperation. “Man, you’re such a fucking perv,” he said, but when Mikey only laughed at that, he laughed with him. 

“So,” Ash continued. “Did he really mean that, you know, about helping me?”

“Probably,” Mikey confirmed. 

“He… he’s not expecting me to, like… I mean, to… uh, to be a… second you, or something, right?”

Mikey’s eyes widened, feeling a sudden rush of jealousy that was like a burning flame rising through his chest. “No! Of course not,” he said, trying to hide just how upset this mere thought made him. “He’s not… He wouldn’t go after anyone as young as you, and I would never allow it in any case. Never! Don’t worry, that’s not what he meant.”

“Oh, okay. Good! Because, yeah… I wouldn’t say no to a guy like you, or anything, but… No offence, your boyfriend is waaaay too much man for me.”

Mikey smiled as much in relief as anything. He supposed he could understand the boy. The first time he’d met Big Mikey, he’d been about to pee in his fucking pants more than once.

“Seriously, though, “Ash said. “What _is_ he gonna do?”

“I’m not sure, but he has these business interests, like, everywhere. I’m sure he could get you a job somewhere.”

“Really? That would be awesome, you know. I… I used to have one, a job I mean, but… Stuff happened, and…”

“How did you end up in the street?” Mikey asked.

Ash sighed deeply and looked down on his hands, resting clasped before him on the tabletop. “Oh, it’s an old story, I guess, happens to a lot of kids... I never really knew my dad. He left my mom when I was little, and I haven’t seen him since. Don’t even remember him, to be honest. My mom didn’t handle things well, she drank, had mental problems… She died when I was fourteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Mikey said.

Ash shrugged his shoulders but didn’t answer to that. “We didn’t have any close relatives; the social services couldn’t find me a decent foster home... I ended up a warden of the state. The home wasn’t bad, I guess, I wasn’t abused or anything, but I was bullied in school, and you didn’t get much support there. 

“When I turned eighteen, they kicked me out. As soon as I was a legal adult, I wasn’t the state’s problem anymore. Okay, they did fix me up with a job at a hamburger joint before I had to leave, and a room with a decent rent. It wasn’t the funniest job in the world, and it didn’t pay much, but I got by all right. Yeah, for a few weeks, things were just fine. Then…” Ash hung his head deeper.

“What happened,” Mikey asked, realizing just how recent this must have been.

“There were money missing from the till, and they accused me of stealing it.”

“Did you?” Mikey asked.

“No!” Ash looked up with an indignant frown. “I didn’t steal any fucking money, but of course they would blame the orphaned kid who was sent there by the state. Can’t trust kids like that, you know.” Ash fisted his hands on the table. “There was no proof I’d done it, the police closed the case almost right away and said I was free to go. You think they took me back, though. Oh no, those fucking bastards fired me. I guess they thought, they’d rather be safe than sorry.

“I tried to find a new job, but I really don’t have any qualifications. I did shit in school, and not only from all the bullying. I’m kind of dyslexic, I think, I was never examined properly. The state fixed me up with that first job, but it was really hard finding another on my own, especially when I’m so stupid I can hardly even read.”

Mikey frowned. Even if he’d only known him for a short time, Ash didn’t come across as even remotely stupid to him. 

“Anyway, I couldn’t find a new job, and then I ran out of savings pretty much right away, because I couldn’t really put away that much on the pay I had. I lost the rented room soon after. Now I’ve spent the last few weeks starving and freezing my ass off in the streets, sleeping in public restrooms and shit like that, until you found me, trying to sell my ass. And it _was_ my first try, you got that right.”

Mikey reached over and put a comforting hand over Ash’s. “Hopefully, you won’t ever have to make another attempt at that. Believe me, it’s not a fun kind of work.”

“How… How long did you do it before, you know, ‘Hells Angels Daddy’ here picked you up?”

“On and off, for… about six years.”

Ash’s eyes widened. “Shit, man, that can’t have been easy.”

“It… wasn’t.”

“What’s your story then? How did _you_ end up there?”

Mikey shrugged. “My story is even simpler than yours, and just as old. When I was fifteen, I was accidentally outed to my parents as the extremely gay little faggot that I am. Their fundamental religious sensibilities were just as extremely scandalized. They kicked me out. I haven’t been back since.”

“Shit, man…” 

Mikey shrugged again. “We all have our stories, don’t we? It was tough, for a while, but I’m fine now, and you will be, too.”

\-----o0o-----

Dinner had been a somewhat awkward affair, Michael thought, finishing up in his bathroom, making ready for bed, and walking over to his bedroom. 

Mikey had still been angry with him, he thought, and hadn’t talked much, not looking at him. He’d been behaving, but not much more than that. That other kid had still been cautious around him, jumping at every move he’d made, and looked to be uncomfortably aware of the tension in the room, which _he_ had caused, the little shit, and Michael had not been happy about the whole thing either. He was grumpy about the unexpected responsibility and very annoyed with the fact that he’d missed out on a pleasurable night with Mikey. 

Well, they’d made a bed for the boy on the couch, and left him snugly tucked in, while Mikey had walked over to his bathroom and Michael to his without as much as a ‘goodnight’ between them. He was pretty damn sure Mikey wouldn’t put out tonight. 

That’s why the sight that met him when he stepped through his bedroom door was so unexpected.

Mikey was kneeling on the floor at the foot end of his bed, undressed, wearing only the collar, and the cock cage, which Michael had totally forgotten about through all this mess, and with his long hair seductively arranged over his slender shoulders, a sight that never failed to make him react. Tired as he was, Michael felt quite a considerable twitch between his legs.

His boy looked up at him, insecurity written all over his face. “Should I leave?” he asked. 

Michael grinned. “Oh, you had better not, boy!”

“May I speak, Master?” Mikey asked further.

Michael nodded.

“Take me! Please?”

“Oh I intend to, don’t worry.” 

Michael reached for the nightstand drawer, picking up the key to Mikey’s cock cage, but Mikey crawled over on his knees, and put a hand over his, stopping him, making him putting it back.

“No, please, just take me, like this, and… real fucking hard!”

Michael peered down at his boy, begging at his feet. “Is this some kind of apology?” he asked. “For this whole mess, bringing strangers home…”

Mikey frowned. “No way in hell, Master. He needed help, I knew we could help, I’m not apologizing for that.”

“Then why? You hate doing it with the cock cage on.”

“I don’t know why, Master,” Mikey interrupted. “I just need it, that’s all.”

Michael grabbed a handful of Mikey’s hair then, and pulled him to his feet so harshly Mikey winced in pain, but there were no protests or attempts to get away. Neither did he resist his Master forcefully turning him around, and pressing him face down on the bed with a likewise harsh grip at his neck, making him stick his delicious little ass up in the air, ready to plunge into. 

He pulled out the drawer again, without letting go of the iron grip, but not to grab the key this time, but a length of rope. He wasn’t overly careful, pulling Mikey’s arms back and tying them off hard at his back. “I’m gonna give you what you need, boy, don’t you worry,” he growled. “I’m gonna fuck your tight little boy-pussy to _shreds_.”

Mikey yelped, but if it was from the pain of Michael pulling the rope tight around his arms, or in fear of the threat to destroy his asshole, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, and Michael didn’t worry about it. When Mikey asked for harshness… he _meant_ it. A simple ‘No’ would stop Michael instantaneously, but tears, yelps and begging would not. 

Michael got on the bed, crawled in behind Mikey, and took him from behind as harshly, and with as little preparation as he dared, not to actually injure him, giving in to his darkest sides, pounding his boy into the mattress mercilessly. 

No, Mikey hadn’t asked for this in the way of an apology, because he wasn’t sorry, and, Michael supposed, he had no reason to be. However, the fact that they’d had a conflict only, regardless of whose fault it was, had unnerved Mikey greatly, Michael understood that now. 

They had argued, yelled at each other, accusing each other of things… They’d had a fight, like _equals_ , and Mikey was severely unsettled and unsure of his place. He needed Michael to assert all the dominance he was able, here, in their most intimate moment, to feel that everything was right in his world again, that everything was back to _their_ normal. 

Michael leaned over Mikey’s slender back, as he pounded into him again, and again. He growled in his ear, reached around to cruelly knead his tied up balls, and bit him in the shoulder hard enough to draw blood, ever more aroused by the gasps and whimpers his boy produced underneath him, desperately trying to keep up.

He sure as hell didn’t mind ‘righting’ Mikey’s world, not in the fucking least.

\-----o0o-----

The bus slowly pulled out of the station and Ash turned in the window seat as the vehicle passed them, waving at them through the dirty window with a big dimpled smile. 

Michael graciously gave the little tyke a short wave back, while Mikey waved with his whole arm until the bus turned out onto the main street and they couldn’t see the boy anymore.

Ash had lived with them for over a month, while Michael had kept to his promise of researching things and pulling a few strings. He’d finally gotten Ash a job at a car factory in a city a few hours away, and had fixed him up with a small apartment, too, while Mikey had encouraged him to take night classes, to catch up on his schooling, and had helped with the applications. 

Michael had to admit the boy hadn’t been much trouble having around, and he’d been both respectful and accepting of their lifestyle, as well, but he was still glad to see him go. He much preferred to have Mikey to himself, and even though he was sure Mikey wasn’t attracted to the kid, they had still become annoyingly close during this short time, being nearer in age to each other than he and Mikey was, and sharing some past experiences. 

Well, they _had_ fixed up the boy with a new life. All Ash had to do now was to show responsibility at his new job and there was no reason he couldn’t have a decent future, and definitely no reason he would ever had to come back and live with them again. Michael had warned him that he would personally look him up and wring his neck if he didn’t behave. The boy had looked like he had no doubts in his mind Michael meant this literally and had only nodded wordlessly with big eyes; finally managing to press out an assurance that he would not betray their trust in him. 

Mikey looked long after the bus, and sighed deeply with a tender smile on his lips. “I’m really gonna miss him,” he said. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?” he added, while putting a hand to his heart and pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

Michael stared at his lover in suspicion, hoping that obvious joke wasn’t hiding a genuine wish to have actual children. He shuddered. Kids… it was not his thing, not now, not ever. “Uuuhh,” he said. “I’ll get you a parrot.”

Mikey turned to him. “A parr…? What?”

“A turtle? How about a turtle? I’ll get you a turtle.”

Mikey kept looking at him as if he’d suddenly gone mad, but then he burst out laughing. “All right, all right, goodness… I’ll never do this again, Master, I promise. It will be only you and me from now on.”

Michael grinned, put an arm around Mikey’s shoulders and steered them around to walk back home. “Now you’re talking like my favorite little bitch,” he said.


End file.
